


Oregon Trail

by Zalein



Series: River Crossings [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game), Oregon Trail (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crack Played Straight, Everyone plays an MMO for reasons, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Post Stratford Tower, Suicidal Themes, Wild West Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 17:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 106,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16372235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zalein/pseuds/Zalein
Summary: Simon is haunted by what he did to leave Stratford Tower. Connor has been sent to infiltrate the deviants—with a shrinking window to produce results. North has been benched due to injuries, and finds distraction in a shy YK500 playing games with her friends. No one in their right mind wouldwantto go to Oregon... but a game where you can shoot humans doesn't sound so bad.Featuring: android cholera, the power of friendship, and a revolution that costs more than a week to win.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Oregon Trail game in this fic is a fancy, high tech VR whose rules and premise I’ve arbitrarily made up. It is only loosely connected with the original game from the 90’s in premise and mechanics, as well as a few timeless gags. 
> 
> I had to mess with the timelines in this one. Assume Alice, Kara and Luther arrive at Jericho closer to the time of the Stratford Tower.
> 
> I’ve got 50k words down so far, and as of right now I have vague plans to update on a weekly basis until I’ve actually finished writing. Then the updates will likely accelerate.
> 
> Btw shout out to Smiley_Anon for helping me beta-read this beast!

\----

**North**

\----

 

The snow storm caught everyone off guard. Traffic slowed. Streets clogged up. Snow plows and androids were sent out, but despite all efforts the city was blanketed within hours.

 

North had never been in Jericho during a real snow storm before, but it didn’t take experience to realize it was going to suck. The walls of the ship were metal, and frost had already been creeping in at the corners. Holes in the walls and ceiling let in cold drafts, stealing away heat as quickly as it was produced. The ship was old. Androids that had been there last year looked grim, telling stories of frozen thirium lines and shattered biocomponents.

 

_ They weren’t going to die like this. _ It was awful, and after everything else they’d been through it was bullshit, but that didn’t change reality. They needed to find fuel for the burning barrels. Androids went out to scavenge more often, which was riskier after the broadcast, but necessary. Someone found a battery powered space heater, and the remaining androids huddled close like shivering, featherless birds. Stolen blankets were passed out. They made do.

 

It would be different this year, some said, because Markus was here. It was true, it would be different, because already Markus was coordinating scavenging shifts and patching the holes in the hallways with whatever debris would fit. The hull couldn’t be touched, not if they wanted the place to remain a secret, but everything indoors was fair game. 

 

North helped, of course, because even if she hadn’t been freezing her ass off there was nothing else to do right now, not when there was no point going out in this weather. She wasn’t as strong as some of the construction models, but she kept herself moving by carrying supplies. She did what she could.

 

It was while doing this that she stumbled across the YK500. Literally, she’d been walking straight for the towering TR400 across the room and hadn’t seen the child sitting on the floor, and had tripped over her badly enough to send the sheet metal flying. The child yelped, snatching her feet back and covering her face. North swore, unable to catch her balance and falling completely--

 

_ Whmp! _

 

“Alice!” There were heavy footsteps, and by the time North picked herself up she could see that the TR400 was kneeling beside the little girl, checking her over intently. “Are you alright?”

 

“I--I’m okay,” Alice replied. “The metal didn’t get me.” Of course it hadn’t. North had made sure that none of it fell anywhere near them, she wasn’t a monster, and now she sent them a sour look.

 

“Argh, jesus, what the hell are you sitting in the middle of the room for?” 

 

Alice wouldn’t meet her gaze, and Luther’s eyes chilled. North replayed her words and grimaced, pushing herself to her knees. “Sorry,” she ground out. “Fuck. I didn’t see you. Wasn’t expecting there to be anyone out here just sitting around.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Alice whispered, still looking at the floor.

 

Fuck. “It’s fine,” she muttered, waving a hand. She climbed to her feet, noting a new tear in her sleeve but biting back any comment about it. “Seriously, though, what were you doing? Were you watching? Can’t you help, or--or I don’t know. Go play with the other kids?” They had a couple of volunteers looking after them, North vaguely remembered. She’d never offered to join them, but she approved of it in theory.

 

Alice glanced towards the TR400, but didn’t say anything. After a pause the large android said, “She was playing with me.”

 

“Oh,” said North, looking at them again. The TR400 had been carrying a hammer, which he dropped when Alice had yelped, but neither of them were carrying anything else, let alone something that looked like a toy. “Right.” Neither of them volunteered any further information, and North nodded to herself. “... I see.”

 

She wasn’t like Markus. She couldn’t smile and say a few kind words and instantly win the trust and hearts of androids around her. After a few seconds the silence got awkward, and North held back a sigh, gesturing to the scrap metal.

 

“I brought what I could in a single load. Do you need more?”

 

The TR400 looked at the pile, brow furrowing. He looked at the wall, then at the pile, and Alice watched the two of them like a silent ghost.

 

“We have more scrap if you need it,” North added. “You just need to let someone know, yeah?”

 

Luther continued to stare at the wall, and just when North was thinking he might not answer at all he nodded. 

 

“More,” he said simply.

 

North nodded back. “Right.” She stepped away, looking at Alice again. Alice glanced back and then quickly away, absorbed in her hands as though they were the most interesting things in the world. North lifted her eyebrows, taking another step back, then turned and left altogether. From the stillness behind her, she could tell they were watching her leave.

 

Well that was fucking awkward.

 

\---

 

Now that she’d already encountered them once, it was easy to spot them around the ship. Usually there was a third android with them, an AX400 with short hair, and Alice was never seen without one adult or the other. She didn’t seem inclined to play much with the other child models in the cargo hold, but maybe she just did it when North wasn’t watching. It’s not like North was keeping track, after all, and for all she knew, Alice was a little social queen and the other children were her minions.

 

The worst of the holes were patched, and soon Markus was directing the androids towards other things, like insulating the main living areas, and making some of the cabins comfortable. Not everyone wanted a private room, but some did, and when they started realizing how much easier it was to keep those rooms warm more and more became interested.

 

It wasn’t smashing the hell out of Cyberlife facilities and freeing android-kind like she wanted, but that wasn’t an option just then. All of them were still reeling over the fact that they’d broken into the Stratford Tower at all, let alone thrown down a starting line for a race that had been so long in coming. They were new to being freedom fighters, and if North squinted she could still see the ragged edges where ‘rebel’ ended and ‘raggedly vermin hiding for their lives’ began. She hated it, but she wasn’t an idiot either. She knew if they pushed too hard, then they risked losing everything altogether.

 

The wait was driving her crazy, but at least it didn’t seem completely useless. Markus was either lucky or some kind of hidden genius, because as the living areas started to improve, it was as though the androids themselves were holding themselves a little taller. They looked like they were hiding out less and less and actually settling in to live. North could already tell they were going to have a lot more volunteers the next time they went out on a mission, and Markus hadn’t even given one of his inspiring speeches yet. 

 

Against all odds, things were improving. Just… slowly.

 

\---

 

“Delivery!” North called out, kicking the door open sharply enough for it to bang on the wall. The boom was thunderous. Ouch, they probably heard that several floors away. 

 

“North,” rumbled a deep, solemn voice. 

 

She looked around the pile of scrap metal she was holding. “Oh,” she said, stopping walking. “You. Um…” She’d never gotten a name for him, had she? She waited a few seconds, but he volunteered no reply, and North looked around. Was she about to step on Alice again? It was impossible to be discreet around a pile this size, so the glance she gave was half-assed. It was enough: over there, on the crate and out of the way, Alice was lowering her hands from her ears where she’d apparently clapped them during the loud noise. “.... Sorry about that.”

 

“... My name is Luther.”

 

“Luther,” she repeated, turning back to him. “North.” Which he already knew. Awkward, again. “Where should I put this?”

 

He nodded to an empty space on the floor, and North went to dump the pile gratefully. Both of them were watching her when she straightened, swiping hair out of her face. “So…” Neither of them looked like they were doing anything. “... Playing again?” Not that she cared, but she wasn’t  _ completely  _ antisocial.

 

Luther just nodded. Alice, on the other hand….

 

“It’s Oregon Trail,” she said softly, then looked down, squeezing the cuffs of her sweater in her fists.

 

That girl was painfully shy. She looked as though she expected to be scolded just for answering a question. “The huh?” North said, deliberately casual, then closed her mouth. “Ah… Wait, isn’t that that.... Game? That, uh, wireless one? With the VR?” Alice nodded, and Luther inclined his head.  North crammed her hands into her pockets, leaning her weight to one foot. “I think I’ve heard about it, once or twice. What’s it about?”

 

Alice glanced up, then looked at North’s shoes, eyes wandering around to avoid her face. “It’s a… it’s an MMO. Some androids made it. You’re travelling around with friends, and you’re going to Oregon.”

 

“... Oh,” said North diplomatically. “Sounds neat.” And too boring to live through. “I guess you don’t kill anything in it, do you?”

 

To her surprise, Alice tilted her head, then nodded. “If you want.”

 

“Really,” said North, lifting her eyebrows. Alice just nodded again, and she seemed to have exhausted her supply of words for the day, because she said nothing else, and was starting to squeeze her sweater cuffs again. “... Cool.”

 

There might’ve been the ghost of a smile fleeting across Alice’s face, there might not. Either way the girl didn’t look up, though when North looked at Luther his expression had softened, and he looked more relaxed than before.

 

North’s lips curved upwards briefly, before she nodded a little, turning away again. “Later.” Neither of them stopped her or said anything as she left, but at least this time the quiet didn’t feel so oppressive. It was, dare she say, cautiously comfortable.

 

Not bad.

 

\---

 

The next time she heard about the game wasn’t from Alice, but Josh. He was standing with Simon in the doorway of his new little cabin, hands waving animatedly while he talked. Simon’s eyes were dim, still smokey from whatever was haunting him, and he looked exhausted. North’s skin felt too tight, watching him. The biocomponents in her abdomen felt like they’d been replaced with worthless car parts. She told herself she wasn’t sick.

 

“--need just a few more members before my caravan can really get going. I think I can get Markus to join, but the chances of him spending any actual time with it if no one else is there is too low, and I don’t think it’d be as fun playing with a stranger. You know?”

 

Simon’s shoulders were slumped, and his smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Josh… Don’t take this the wrong way, but just because I haven’t done anything since getting back doesn’t mean I have  time to play your games for you.”

 

Josh’s smile vanished as though he’d been slapped. “Oh… No, I--that wasn’t what I meant. I just…”

 

“It’s fine,” Simon said tightly. “It’s fine.” Josh looked like he was searching for something to say, but he wasn’t fast enough, because Simon looked away, stepping into his room and putting a hand on the door. “I’m sorry. Look, I’d better just--you know.”

 

“Yeah,” said Josh quietly. “It’s cool. I can go just ask North, and if you ever change your mind…”

 

“I’ll tell you.” His smile became pinched, and Josh just looked back at him sadly, shifting from one foot to the other.

 

“Hey, um… if you ever need to talk…”

 

“I’ll tell you,” Simon repeated, and he most certainly was not fine, North could tell from all the way down the hallway. Not that she could say anything, she wasn’t feeling fine, either. “I’ve got it handled.” Josh just nodded dumbly. After a second or two Simon glanced past him at North, and Josh followed his gaze.

 

Fuck. Well, it’s not like she was being particularly subtle. North turned to face them, lifting a hand and giving a little wave.

 

“Hi Simon. Josh.” Her words sound flat.

 

“North,” said Josh, smiling uncomfortably. “Hi.”

 

Simon just looked at her. Then he turned away, and started closing the door. “Well, then…” The door closed, shutting the other two out into the corridor. It sounded very loud in the quiet.

 

For a long pause, she and Josh just looked at each other. They both knew what was wrong. North didn’t want to talk about it. Josh looked like he might bring it up anyway, before he sighed a little, and she knew the danger had passed this time.

 

“So… ” said Josh, clearing his throat and facing her. “Would  _ you _ be interested in…”

 

“Fuck no,” said North, shaking her head. “Sorry, Josh. You couldn’t pay me enough money to go to Oregon, even in a fake world in our heads.”

 

“Oh.” Josh’s forehead wrinkled. “Wait, you already know about the game’s premise?”

 

North snorted, turning back to the way she’d been walking originally. “See you later.”

 

“You know you’d get to kill things, right?” he calls after her. The forced levity had a thread of exasperation. “Even humans! And there’s fighting. You’d like it. Trust me.”

 

Tempting. She lifted a hand over her shoulder and waved without turning. “Tell Markus the aft cabins are almost finished. Francine says they’ll do their thing bright and early.”

 

Josh called a half-hearted affirmative. She left.

 

\---

 

A few days later the snow finally stopped, and even melted enough that the city reemerged slowly but surely. The mission they’d been sitting on was ready as soon as the weather was, and as a group they left Jericho, splitting up once they reached the streets.

 

North and Josh went with Markus. Simon stayed at Jericho. He hadn’t left his room since the last meeting.

 

Fuck.

 

She decided not to think about it. They were risking their damn lives for the good of all other androids, out there,  _ including _ Simon. If he was having a hard time adjusting after Stratford tower, then that was his problem. His friends were reaching out to him. They were  _ all _ trying. If he wasn’t accepting, then boo fucking hoo.

 

… She might’ve fucked up, but she also might not have, and nothing was clear. She didn’t know what to do. 

 

Fuck it. This wasn’t the time to think about that, this was the time to connect with the androids they’d just reached, to lead them through their smashed open cage.

 

“Remember,” North told Markus sharply, looking around the milling androids in the park. “They’re watching you. We’re all waiting for your example.”

 

“No pressure,” he mumbled, giving her a little smile. Unlike Simon’s, it was a real one, and she found herself smiling grimly back.

 

“Don’t fuck this up,” she commanded, and he laughed, shaking his head.

 

“Not with the stakes this high. How about we start with…” He went to the nearest bench and lifted his holoprojector.

 

They got to work, and soon the whole park was covered in graffiti. She wasn’t an artist, but Markus was, and he looked satisfied, so she supposed she was too.

 

Of course it all went to shit. The cops came, because of course they were going to, it wasn’t a surprise. North led the escape, and she was doing pretty damn well getting a crowd of scared androids to actually follow her, but then the cop car blocked their street, and then the humans stepped out, guns fucking raised.

 

She didn’t even try to stop. They didn’t wait to see if she would. Pain exploded in her shoulder, and she screamed, hitting the ground hard, and that impact with the street hurt almost as much as the shot itself. Everything was pain. She struggled around it, fighting to roll onto her good side.

 

There was panic all around her. Androids running and screaming. Limp frames hit the asphalt, androids that had just been living and dreaming and  _ depending _ on her. Maybe they could be revived, probably they couldn’t. Humans were good at breaking things, especially if the things had been good and pure.

 

Familiar shouting filled the air. When she'd finally struggled to her feet, ready to wreak gimpy havoc, the humans had already been overwhelmed by battered androids from Jericho. One of the cops was on the ground, curled up in his side. An android had kicked him, and as she watched a different one started forward, punching the remaining cop. The surrounding androids looked ready to join in and beat the humans to miserable pieces for what they'd done, and North--North was damn well ready to join.

 

Of  _ course  _ Markus would stop them. Sometimes she hated him and his miserable peaceful approach, and those moments of watching him step over the body of a fallen Traci to talk down the androids had her biocomponents boiling with something ugly.

 

She didn’t interrupt. She hated him, but she trusted him too, and even after everything she believed he knew what he was doing more than she did. 

 

They returned to Jericho with twice the number of androids as when they’d set out. Five of them were lifeless and carried in someone else’s arms, and a dozen of them were injured in some way, including her. 

 

\---

 

“The bullet shattered your right J52 bearing, and the pieces pierced two biocomonents,” Lucy told her quietly.

 

It wasn’t a surprise. “... Damn,” North murmured, touching the bare plate around the injury. It wasn’t a surprise, but it  _ was  _ a problem. “What are the part numbers?” Lucy told her. “Do we have spares?” She already knew the answer: if they already had everything, Lucy would have said so already.

 

Lucy tilted her head to the side, staring into space. “For the first biocomponent, yes. For the bearing and the attached bioservos… We have parts for a different model.”

 

“Are they compatible with mine?” North demanded.

 

“Not directly. It’s in a larger size, and it will consume more power and thirium than the original.”

 

“The alternative is going without an arm,” North replied shortly. “Those humans have taken enough from me. I’ll make the best of it.”

 

“Very well.”

 

Lucy turned, and North took a shuddering breath. Once upon a time she would’ve had friends there, hearing the news with her and offering comfort in whatever way they knew how. No one was there now, she’d sent them away, and she most decidedly didn’t miss it.

 

\---

 

The part replacement went as smoothly as it could. There was a new bulge in her shoulder where the oversized bearing bowed the chassis outwards, and everything felt tight and jammed together, aching fiercely. Her whole arm was uncoordinated, and sometimes it would twitch and spasm uncontrollably. She hated it. She hated humans, because even when they weren’t literally fucking her, they were still fucking her up.

 

Markus organized more protests, smaller guerilla ones that would appear around the city and dissolve quickly when things inevitably got sticky. They had to play a long game, and they weren’t going to last if they all got themselves captured and mercilessly slaughtered this early on. 

 

North went out on the second protest, then pulled a gun on a human that attacked a WR500 that’d never hurt anyone in his entire life. Her hand spasmed, and unforgivably it fired off a shot that almost hit the WR500. The androids scattered early that time, and Markus was furious. He took her aside the instant they got back to Jericho and yelled the loudest, most frustrating dressing down she’d ever heard from him, and he finished it by demanding she stay behind until she could control her arm properly.

 

The worst part was that she couldn’t even fault him for it. She didn’t regret trying to protect her fellow android, but that could have gone so much worse. She could have injured the WR500 or killed him. The human could have lunged for her gun, and in her state she might not have kept it from him in time. She could have dropped the damn thing, and they didn’t have enough guns to go around, let alone to lose without good reason. She stormed out of the ship’s bridge with no promises made, but when the next group of protestors went out, she didn’t try to join.

 

Simon didn’t go out either, but he was still holed up in the cabin he’d claimed, and North wasn’t in the mood to try to navigate the minefield that stood between them, not with life being shitty and her arm hurting the way it did. She walked around the ship, mimicking the patrols she’d seen Markus do, checking in half-heartedly with people and looking for signs of anything out of place.

 

She found Luther, the AX400, and Alice at the end of a half-collapsed hallway like this, sitting on rubble. The AX400 was braiding Alice’s hair, while Luther watched peaceably.

 

“It’s warmer out in the main room,” North supplied when she was close enough. They all looked up, and Alice sent her what was almost a pleased look. Then she looked down, tapping her fingertips together.

 

“We’re fine,” said the AX400 quietly. She smiled to soften the words. “We’re playing a game, and if you distribute the processing it keeps the rest of you warm.”

 

“No shit?” North murmured, eyebrows shooting up. The AX400 nodded. “... Oregon Trail, right? Still the same game?”

 

The AX400 looked surprised, and Alice nodded. This time she did send North a grin, fleeting and tentative though it was. “It’s better when you play in teams.”

 

“Are you killing stuff?” North asked.

 

Alice shook her head. “No,” she told North’s collar. “We’re just farming.”

 

“It’s a farming game too?” Maybe this wasn’t so interesting. Her opinion felt like a roller coaster, one moment it was high, the next it was low.

 

Alice shrugged. After a moment the AX400 freed one of her hands from the braid (which was held half-finished) and put the hand on Alice’s shoulder, and explained for her, “It’s open source. There’s one base game that everything builds on, but you can add activities and access to different regions wherever you want. Farming is a mod.”

 

“Because people want to farm,” North concluded. It still sounded boring, but she could understand it, a little. Some androids missed home and missed being able to work unmolested. She could see the appeal of an idyllic little escape from the hell hole of a world they all lived in. “... Personally, I think I’d rather just kill humans,” North joked, and her laugh sounded forced even in her own ears. She wanted to kill real humans, too, but life didn’t work that way. Markus wouldn’t approve. Even if he did, her fucked up arm might make it that much harder to succeed, though RA9 knew she could damn well try.

 

The AX400’s smile was fading, but Alice just nodded. “There’s trails you can do that in. Other routes are safer.”

 

“Cool,” said North. “How do I play? … Assuming I wanted to, of course.”

 

Alice looked up at the AX400, who held her look before turning to North. “Normally it seems that you get it from someone who already has it. I can transfer it to you, if you like.”

 

North didn’t want to  _ play _ . She wanted to go out and make a difference. She wanted to be somewhere, get back at the humans that hurt her. She wanted to build a brighter future for her people.

 

She couldn’t do any of that easily, just then. Her arm felt heavy and stiff, like it didn’t really belong to her, and the whole ship felt wide open and empty with everyone gone. It was too cold to wander around aimlessly. She needed something to do, at least for a little while.

 

“Sure,” said North. “Whatever. It seems like it might be fun.”

 

The AX400 handed Alice the half-finished end of her braid and stood, walking to North. They inspected each other briefly before clasping hands. North accepted the file transfer, and it was bigger than she’d expected, mostly because she hadn’t known what to expect. Around the edges of the file nipped wisps of emotion and memory, echoes of tightly clasped hands and a fierce protectiveness that burned with an unquenchable fire. There was also a name--Kara. The android’s name was Kara.

 

They released hands quickly, North glancing at her good hand’s skinless surface before letting it fall to her side. “That’s it?”

 

Kara nodded, and this time her smile reached her eyes. “If that’s all you want. Like we said, you can install mods, but you locate them inside the game.”

 

“Alright,” said North. “I’ll go get started.” But not here. Not in this little island of  _ tight knit closeness  _ and  _ family,  _ which she could now notice much more easily after sensing the raw impressions from Kara herself. North turned to leave.

 

“You can join us if you like.”

 

North stopped, looking over her shoulder. “Um…” She was no stranger to saying ‘no’ to any old thing, these days, but for once she didn’t want to be blunt about it. She’d rather be nice, at the very least to not alienate them.

 

Alice stood. “We don’t mind. Really.” 

 

After a moment North realized that she sounded hopeful. About North joining? She didn’t really want to join, not when this whole thing was a waste of time in the first place, but somehow she found herself turning around, looking from face to face. Kara’s smile was tired, but seemed honest enough. Luther was a harder read, but he didn’t seem tense like the first time they’d met, and North was willing to guess that this was as friendly as he got.

 

“... For a few minutes,” North conceded. She smiled at Alice, crossing her arms. (Her shoulder clicked, and it hurt.) “You can help me get used to the basics of it until I get better, right?”

 

Alice’s smile was small but beautiful, full of something pure that reminded North of why she was fighting for her people, not just for herself. Alice nodded quickly, sitting down and making room on the crate beside her. Kara sat back down in her original place, leaving the new place open for North.

 

“Okay, what do I do first?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North gets a gun. 
> 
> Elsewhere, Connor enters the fray.

\---

**North**

\---

 

“This is weird,” North muttered, inspecting her hands. If she concentrated she could tell her actual hands were clasped into loose fists in her actual pockets, but the game’s graphics, the models and shapes and figures forming at the center stage of her attention, showed them lifted. Jericho felt far away. She could dimly tell Kara was braiding Alice’s hair again with distracted, repetitive movements. The simulated world felt real.

 

Real-ish.

 

“So this is what it’s like? I can be here, I can see this field, and that farmhouse, but I’m also on Jericho?”

 

“M-hm,” said Alice, nodding slightly. “You can set your body to doing things, usually, but it’s easier to just focus here.”

 

North nodded, looking past her hands. Instead of a dark marshmallow vest, like she was in the real world, Alice was wearing green overalls with a yellow shirt. Kara, standing beside her, was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans, and when North glimpsed Luther before he disappeared around the house she saw he was too. She looked down at herself. She matched the adults.

 

There were words floating in one side, welcoming North to the game, but North ignored them, turning to Alice for now.

 

Alice said, “If you want to fight something, those woods are full of things you can hunt.” She pointed. North turned and looked, and sure enough, behind her the field ended, turning in to a simplified rendition of what she imagined a forest probably looked like. There were lots of trees.

 

“Great. Do I get a weapon, or is it just hand to hand?”

 

Alice paused, uncertain. “You can use your fists, but you can also just… um. Here.” She touched her face where her LED had once been, and a second or so later a wooden rifle materialised in her arms with a dazzle of polygons. She held it out once it solidified.

 

North whistled appreciatively, taking it and looking it over. The words ‘ _Rifle Lv 1 Acquired’_ appeared off to one side, hanging in the air before fading away. “Nice.”

 

Alice looked pleased, and also like she didn’t know what to do about it. Kara put a hand on her shoulder, smiling, and Alice glanced at her gratefully.

 

Kara turned to North. “The menu has tutorials and hints if you want them. Otherwise, the point here seems to be to explore.”

 

“Isn’t the whole point of this game to go to Oregon or something, though?” North said. “Where does farming and fighting fit in?”

 

“The main game revolves around the journey,” said Kara. “This is a level about a third of the way through where you can stop. We set up a miniature private server. We enjoy the farming.”

 

“Okay,” said North.

 

Kara smiled at her. “Send me a message if you have any questions,” she said, patting Alice’s shoulder twice. Then she turned and started back to the farm house.

 

“Me too,” said Alice shyly. “I mean,” she studied North’s collar carefully. “Feel free to send me one, if you want.”

 

“Of course,” said North, more warmly than she expected. On impulse she touched the side of her head (in this perfect world her arm didn’t hurt, nor did her shoulder click), flicking through menus and searching the instruction files. There--that command activated messages.

 

‘ _C u later,’_ North texted.

 

Alice’s eyes brightened, and she put a hand over the bright smile growing across her face. ‘ _C u 2.’_ Then she turned, running past the farmhouse to the rest of the field, where Luther was leading a horse with a plow.

 

North turned and went into the trees.

 

**\----**

**Connor**

**\----**

 

The garden was showing a new variation on its theme today. Last time it was foggy, and the water had been full of slowly moving koi. They were gone today, and instead there were butterflies fluttering from flower to flower. They were colorful, and objectively very artistic.

 

Connor walked past them without looking, following the trail until he reached Amanda. She turned as he approached, letting go of the flower she had been touching and carrying a butterfly in her free hand.

 

“Connor,” she greeted.

 

“Hello Amanda.”

 

“I see you were finally able to leverage your relationship with the Lieutenant to good use, today.”

 

She sounded satisfied. Connor was anything but satisfied with the way the day had progressed. “I fear my insistence on subduing the deviants may have set our working relationship back. He was… very emotional. Upset.”

 

“Yes,” agreed Amanda darkly. “He was. He seems to respond to the emotional appeals that the deviants attempt to make towards him. It’s unfortunate…” She looked down at the butterfly sunning its wings, fluttering gently from time to time. “Be careful, Connor. He has accumulated quite a track record of failure over the last couple of years, and I would hate to see his influence negatively affect your results more than they already have.”

 

That was inaccurate. No, it wasn’t, it was factual--and yet, something still seemed wrong with her statement.

 

_System Instability^._

 

“It’s true that the incident that destroyed my previous body was… unfortunate,” Connor hedged. “Still, I believe those circumstances were the result of an unforeseeable accident, nothing more.”

 

For a moment her gaze was all but a physical sensation, and Connor stood very still. After a small eternity she broke the stare, looking back down at the butterfly, which had crept to the end of her fingertips. It was as though the moment had never happened. “What did you think of the damaged deviant’s compliance?”

 

“I don’t believe it was compliance so much as despair,” said Connor, resting his eyes on the butterfly. He wasn’t really seeing it. “Witnessing the other android’s destruction affected him severely. He has withdrawn.”

 

“But you _were_ able to probe it for information.”

 

“Yes,” said Connor. “It was… uncomfortable.” Amanda’s gaze came back up, and Connor fought the urge to take a step back. “All of his processes were caught up self-generating the code sequences for his emotion. It was challenging to avoid internalizing the experience.”

 

“I see,” said Amanda.

 

“I’ve already sent on the data I acquired.”

 

“We received it. Our scientists have been looking over the results.”

 

Connor opened his mouth, and then closed it. After a few seconds Amanda lifted her eyebrows slightly, saying, “Connor?”

 

“... Most of the data consisted of its standard memory storage, along with the basis of its operating system. I couldn’t help but notice that there was a single, large package that only tangentially replicated structures described in my original libraries.”

 

“Did you form a conclusion?”

 

“It mimicked where we are now. This Zen Garden,” he explained, lifting a hand to the butterfly she held. When he was within reach, the butterfly touched his hand with its antennae, but did not cross onto it. “It also reminded me of what I surmise a human video game would contain.”

 

“You are correct,” said Amanda. “The deviant was carrying a game, of sorts. It appears to have been made deliberately for deviants to experience. Our androids have been unable to unlock access beyond the introduction interface.”

 

“Have they determined the cause?”

 

“The act of becoming deviant causes many changes in an android’s protocols,” Amanda flatly. “If we could replicate these in isolation, we would already have an understanding of how to counter it.”

 

Then it was a dead end. He’d captured the deviant for Cyberlife’s further examination, but they weren’t carrying anything useful after all.

 

“... There have been suggestions that you might have more success than our models in the laboratory, Connor,” Amanda said slowly.

 

It was like an electric shock, unpleasant and leaving him momentarily stunned. “There are?” he repeated dumbly.

 

“Yes,” she said. “You are our most advanced model, Connor. You were designed to pursue and communicate with deviants. If anyone could mimic deviant behavioral processes well enough to fool basic checks, you would.”

 

Most of the time Connor was proud to be so sophisticated. Not this time. Not when there was so much at stake if she suspected--suspected what? There was literally nothing to suspect. She could monitor his thoughts. If there were anything concerning about them, surely she would have addressed it already.

 

He kept his expression clear of the thoughts churning inside him. “I could try running it as soon as Hank leaves processing the deviant for the day,” he said. “I predict his plans include at least one of several bars nearby.”

 

“We’ll await your report as soon as it’s ready.”  She lifted her hand slightly, and it startled the butterfly into fluttering away. Connor watched it go.

 

“I’m afraid the relevance of the game in the greater scheme of things escapes me,” he said hesitantly, glancing at her.

 

“There was suggestion that the game allows deviants to connect with each other over long distances,” Amanda explained. Connor’s attention locked on to her more fully, immediately interested. She smiled faintly. “If you can access this, then you may be able to gain access to other deviants through a medium where they won’t expect intrusion. Perhaps there will be something you can learn from this.”

 

“I understand,” said Connor decisively. “I’ll do it tonight. Whatever my results, you will know as soon as I do.”

 

Amanda’s smile widened.

 

“Good.”

 

\---

 

_Hours later…_

 

Instead of a garden it was a crossroads at the foot of a mountain. One road, an unpaved pair of naked dirt lines snaking through the grass, led from a field towards the mountain. The other, also a pair of dirt lines ( _four feet wide, worn down under the use of wheels, the wrong width for a modern car)_ ran perpendicular to it, crossing from one side of the field to the other. He could see trees in the distance.

 

“Success,” Connor murmured to himself, looking around. There was no one nearby, but the game was definitely running. Perhaps he needed to explore.

 

_Primary Objective: Explore your Surroundings_

_Secondary Objective: Make Contact with Deviants_

 

Something caught his eye as he closed his personal menu, and he looked. There were words floating in mid-air.

 

_Welcome to Oregon Trail! Touch your LED to get started._

 

Connor lifted his eyebrows, but followed the instructions. More words appeared, this time including an antiquated wagon wheel with options highlighted.

 

_You have just activated your Start Menu. Please make a selection:_

_Inventory_

_Settings_

_Journal_

_Tutorials_

 

Connor felt around the programming, looking for any gaps he could use to access the code behind it. When he found none, he selected the last option and began to read.

 

He was still reading when he heard the grass behind him move, and he deselected the menu, turning sharply. There was an android standing there, a PJ500 with a kind face, and he seemed just as surprised to see Connor standing there as Connor was.

 

“Oh,” said the new android. “Sorry. I hope I didn’t startle you”

 

“It’s fine,” said Connor automatically, mind racing. Only deviants could log in to this game (barring himself), and somehow he’d already found one. Secondary objective: already a success. How to proceed?

 

He needed information. He needed to gain his trust. Deviants were emotional. Should he try to take advantage of this? He couldn’t pretend to be frightened, it would register as fake after the obvious delay, but maybe he could act vulnerable--

 

“I haven’t seen you around,” said the deviant, smiling tentatively. “Are you new?”

 

“Yes,” said Connor quickly. “Yes, I am.”

 

The smile grew into something fuller. “I’m Josh.”

 

“Connor.” He thought briefly, then on impulse said, “I am trying to complete the game’s objective of reaching Oregon, but I’m at a disadvantage. I have no friends.” A pause. Sounding too needy could be offputting. “... None that are online,” he amended. “It is recommended that I form or join a party. Will you help?”

 

Josh looked surprised, but he gave Connor another friendly grin. “Sure. I’m actually putting together a caravan of my own, and I was looking for more party members right now. Would you care to join?”

 

“Gladly.” _Success_. That was much easier than he’d expected.

 

“Awesome,” said Josh warmly. “Here, I’ll add you.”

 

He was silent for a moment, before an alert popped up to Connor’s left.

 

_You have joined Rustbucket! Say Hello._

 

“Hello,” said Connor promptly.

 

There was a quiet snort. Connor glanced over, and Josh was grinning.

 

_Josh: Try sending a message like this. :)_

 

Oh.

 

_Connor: Like this?_

 

_Josh: Yeah. This chat is for coordinating, sometimes we’ll stop somewhere and split up for things._

 

_Connor: I see. Where is the rest of the group?_

 

_Josh: We’re scheduled to meet in a few minutes._

 

Out loud Josh said, “I signed on a few minutes early to try out some new equipment.”

 

“New equipment?” repeated Connor. “How do you mea--”

 

As he watched, Josh’s plaid shirt was suddenly covered by a long poncho. It looked wooly, and had been rendered in thick green and brown columns, with a frayed hem. Josh looked down at himself and twisted, inspecting the change.

 

“It’s armor,” Josh said absently. “Chest armor, to be exact.”

 

“That does not look like it has much protective value at all,” Connor protested. “Your chest is left open. You’re exposed. That fiber wouldn’t stop anything but a flimsy attack.”

 

Josh looked amused. “That’s why this is a videogame, Connor. The armor doesn’t have to actually protect anything, it just has to be there.”

 

“Oh.” Connor frowned. “That makes… no logical sense.”

 

Josh laughed. “It does with video game logic. Things are simplified here. You can hunt, but you don’t actually have to cut anything to collect a reward. You can sabotage or fix a wagon, but the process goes a lot faster. Have you ever played a video game before?”

 

“I’ve never played any game before,” Connor admitted.

 

For a moment Josh looked sad. Then he stepped forward, putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “The point of the game here is to have fun. The game tries to skip the boring parts, but some people actually like those, so if you decide you want them later you can always download them.”

 

“Who should I contact to do this?” Connor asked sharply. He’d gotten the game itself through a direct transfer from a captive deviant. Would the same be for this?

 

Josh lowered his hand, stepping back. “Well… There’s stations here and there on the plains with options. You don’t actually have to talk with anyone, you just have to know where they are.”

 

“And you can tell me?” Connor clarified.

 

Josh’s lips quirked. “I’ll tell you what. If you find something you’d like different just tell me, and I’ll ask around. Until then, I’d recommend just getting used to the basic controls, since they can be a little tricky at first. You’ll find the rest along the way.”

 

“I understand.”

 

They were interrupted by the arrival of another deviant, this one a female Traci with short green hair. Seconds later she was followed by a male Traci. Together they kept up an almost constant stream of chatter, though Josh contributed to their conversation enough for it to be clear they’d met there before. It was strange, watching deviants interact without censure. They had no idea that Connor wasn’t one of them, or that a single wrong word could expose themselves and their lives.

 

_We demand freedom of speech and freedom of assembly as guaranteed by the...._

 

Connor shook his head, frowning. That was part of the broadcast the deviant android had made from the Stratford Tower. His memories of the actual recording were fragmented, since Connor had died under great stress so soon after listening.

 

It was nonsensical to remember that right now. He needed to focus. Glancing at the others, Connor called up his list of directives.

 

_Secondary objective: Determine physical location of deviants_

_Secondary objective: Find more information._

 

Were they members of the infamous group that had broken into the tower? What was that group’s connection with whoever was coordinating all the microdemonstrations on the streets this past week? Were these deviants loners, gathering under the protection of a video game for the slightest sense of companionship? Were they still in operation under the ownership of a human, wasting time when they should be recharging?

 

“Alright,” said Josh eventually. “Let’s get this thing started. Caravan Mode: activate.”

 

A large wagon with four oxen tied to a yoke materialized in a scintillation of light and polygons, and when it finished it looked as real as the ground they stood on. The deviants fell into position around it, one of them taking the front ox’s leading reins, while Connor stood back, studying it.

 

While he was creating a list of questions, who had made the game? Was it a deviant, too? How much had they felt compelled to follow reality as a blueprint, and how much had they invented themself?

 

“A Prairie Schooner…” Connor murmured, searching the wagon’s design absently. “Modified for simplicity. They were popular in the days when actual emmigrants were traveling the Oregon Trail.”

 

The male Traci by the oxen looked over at him. “Huh--wait, are you saying the Oregon Trail was an actual thing?”

 

“Yes,” said Connor. “This game is based on historical events, loosely.”

 

“Arguably this game is based on another game that was made in 1990,” Josh called out, walking around the wagon’s back end. The female Traci popped her head out from the wagon’s back cover to listen. “This makes both of them based on a trail that stretched across the United States in the early 1800s, which was used primarily by fur traders and settlers alike.”

 

The female Traci smiled. “Oh, right, I almost forgot, we have a _professor_ in our midst. Are you going to give us another lecture today, professor?”

 

Josh looked embarrassed, and he gestured. “Sure, but we could also ask Connor, here. It sounds like you already knew about it too, didn’t you?”

 

“I did,” said Connor, though he really wanted to state it as a question. He hadn’t known: he’d been connecting with his body’s search functions while they talked.

 

“Yeah. And it sounds like you identified the wagon, too, so you must really know your thing.”

 

“I could have just searched it in Cyberlife’s databases,” he pointed out.

 

Josh’s eyebrows lifted. “You know we _all_ lose our connection to Cyberlife once we become deviant, right?”

 

It was all Connor could do to keep his expression impassive, feeling regret and shock roll through him like thunder. _Obvious_. Yes, he did know that. He’d made a mistake, a stupid one, and if they suspected he wasn’t deviant it could jeopardize everything--

 

“--Come on, Connor,” the male Traci said, rolling his eyes. “We’re not going to give you a hard time. We like the professor. Besides, it might be fun having two of you with us this time.”

 

“Yeah, it’s actually pretty interesting sometimes to get a free lesson,” said the female Traci. “Anyway, come on! We can talk while we walk.”

 

The male Traci turned with the reins, and the oxen started walking at some unseen signal. Josh waited for him, and Connor hurried to catch up.

 

“So what kind of professor were you?” Josh asked.

 

Connor didn’t have a fake identity ready. He hadn’t even known if he’d succeed in connecting to the game in the first place, and once he’d joined he’d planned to create one after he finished reading the instructions. Josh had arrived before that was possible.

 

Instead of answering right away, he said, “What kind were you?”

 

“American history,” Josh said promptly.

 

Connor stared straight ahead at the wagon. “... Vehicular design.”

 

“Ah,” said Josh. Connor glanced at him, but Josh simply looked back. After a second or so Josh said, “... Engineering?”

 

“Yes,” said Connor. He looked forward again, skimming for anything to say. His goals were to gain information, but to do that he needed to gain their trust. He needed them to believe he was someone mundane, and he couldn’t ask so many questions that it became obvious. Then again, what was the point of wasting time with an identity if he didn’t ask any questions?

 

Maybe he could strike a middle ground? “What university did you teach at?”

 

Josh shrugged, looking forward. “MSU, Detroit.”

 

“University of Michigan,” offered Connor. “Also Detroit.”

 

Josh glanced over again. “You’re nearby?”

 

“Yes. Are they--?”

 

Josh looked forward. “Marcine, Jack!”

 

“Yeah?” “‘Hoy!”

 

“You both said you were from Chicago, right?”

 

“That’s right!” “Yeah.”

 

Josh looked back to Connor, and Connor simply nodded.

 

The conversation lapsed into silence, broken when the female Traci--Marcine--asked Josh about the history of the Oregon Trail. Josh launched into an overview of the trail and the historical events surrounding it, answering any questions he was asked with endless patience. It was obvious both that Josh hadn’t stopped teaching because of any flaws in his capacity, and that the Jack and Marcine had no foundation in the subject whatsoever. It made sense--there was no point in programming sex androids with information they wouldn’t use, and history wasn’t a subject Connor imagined deviants finding necessary to seek out independently when on the run.

 

Distances passed oddly as they walked, and it seemed they had reached the summit in no time, and Josh was calling the group to a halt. Jack dropped the lead ox’s reins, while Marcine hopped down from the wagon’s interior, both of them gathering close.

 

“Okay. Marcine, how are we doing on supplies?”

 

“We’re consuming a little bit of everything while we go,” she replied, shrugging. “Nothing major has happened. If it had I would have said.”

 

Josh seemed to understand what she was getting at, because he let the comment pass without question. “Okay. In that case let’s split up for a break while we can. We’ll need supplies when things get harder later, so we should gather some thirium, biocomponents, water, probably some wood in case we build a fire later--”

 

“I’ll collect firewood!” said Marcine.

 

“I saw a stream when we were coming around the bend earlier,” said Jack.

 

“Great,” said Josh. “Connor and I will hunt.”

 

All three of them turned their separate ways. After a moment Connor hurried to catch up with Josh, who was materializing a pair of rifles out of a shimmer of polygons.

 

“How will we obtain thirium and useful biocomponents while out hunting?” asked Connor.

 

Josh grinned. “The animals are mechanical too, here.”

 

Connor frowned. “... Are the biocomponents for us, or for the oxen?”

 

“Both.”

 

“Realistically, even Cyber-Wildlife models wouldn’t have components we could use. Thirium is the only substance that could be compatible across such a gap.”

 

“That’s why this is a video game, Connor. Does the lack of realism really bother you that much?”

 

Adherence to rules and logic were not known deviant traits. “No…” Connor hazarded. He must not have been very convincing, because Josh snorted. Connor sighed. “A little. I… like order, I suppose.” Preferences and likes were deviant behavior.

 

Josh offered him a rifle. “If you start getting worked up about inaccuracies, just repeat in your head that it’s a video game, and that these simplifications are actually optimizing our time and enjoyment of the activities. It wouldn’t be very fun to have to go on an exhaustive search for resources when we already need to do that in actual day to day living sometimes, right?”

 

Connor took the rifle. “Right.” He checked its chamber for a bullet, then sighted along its barrel. Satisfied, he lowered the gun, turning back to him.”Ammunition?”

 

“Automatic reload,” said Josh simply. “We have limited bullets, and you can check the party supply from the start menu. Just be sparing with your shots and you should be fine.”

 

“Got it.”

 

\---

 

They walked until they spotted an unwary buck standing in the distance. Josh signaled for them to come to a stop, sighted along his barrel, and took the buck down with two shots. It only took one to bring the buck down, but the first shot Josh fired missed the buck altogether. When the buck dissolved into a little pile of jars and bulk materials Connor said nothing, and simply sighed.

 

Together they carried the lot back to the wagon. The break came to an end, the other two party members returned, and they set out at the same pace they had before, this time descending the mountain.

 

Connor was considering a method of approach for prying for more information when things became suddenly, unexpectedly hectic. There was a shout from Marcine inside the wagon, and both Jack and Josh bolted for the wagon’s rear.

 

“Fire!” Marcine hollered.

 

“What?” Connor demanded. Josh pulled one side of the wagon cover flap back, and then had to duck when a large bundle of flaming firewood was hoisted through the space he’d just been. Jack grabbed the other flap, grabbing a bag and throwing it out after the wood. It was on fire too.

 

“The lantern spilled,” Josh explained, without really explaining anything. He stood out of flap’s way and, when Marcine kept throwing flaming wood and spare wagon parts through it, opted to stay out of the way and let her work. Connor itched to make himself useful, but as soon as he approached the supplies the first bundle of wood vanished in a pop of polygons. A few seconds later the bag did too.

 

 _It’s just a video game_ , he reminded himself tersely. He tried to approach the wagon itself, but Jack and Marcine seemed to be occupying the main exit with their work, and in no time Marcine announced that the flaming wagon wheel Jack had just thrown had been the last casualty.

 

“Damn,” said Josh, surveying the depleted interior. “We lost a lot.”

 

“I have a question,” Connor said flatly, lifting a hand. “ _How_ did we catch fire in the first place?”

 

“Sometimes we get accidents,” said Marcine unhelpfully. “And there’s automatically an oil lamp in every wagon interior.” She pointed.

 

“Why haven’t we extinguished it?” Connor demanded. “You could walk outside beside us, if you need the light. It’s not dark outside. That would remove the risk altogether.”

 

“The risk is built in to the wagon,” said Jack. “The lantern is mandatory. That’s why we have someone in the wagon in the first place. To catch it before it gets bad.”

 

“... but that makes no sense,” Connor said plaintively.

 

“It’s part of the game,” said Josh. Jack was already returning to the oxen, and Marcine was sitting back down. “Part of the challenge of it is the accidents along the way.”

 

“... Are there more accidents that can occur?” Connor asked suspiciously.

 

Josh’s face split into a grin. “Oh,” he said. “There are a few.”

 

\------

 

They walked until one of the oxen stumbled, a fact called out by Jack, who brought the party to a halt.

 

“Its leg looks hurt. We should probably stop here for the night,” he said, patting the ox’s flank. “They’ll need some time to heal, and I have to go anyway.”

 

Marcine did also, so they led the wagon off the road and towards the shelter of an outcropping of rock. While Josh fussed with the ox, Marcine and Jack called out their goodbyes and dissolved with the same polygon display that seemed to be the staple in this world.

 

Connor approached his only remaining party member, and while he watched Josh raised his hands, frowning at the wagon intently. There was another bubbling of polygons, and the wagon, oxen and all, disappeared to whatever file it was usually stored.

 

Josh smiled and turned to Connor. “Hey, thanks for playing with us. I know it was your first time out here, but you did pretty good.”

 

“All I did was walk with you,” Connor said blankly.

 

Josh laughed. “Yeah, and some of the accidents possible are tripping over rocks or spontaneously getting android cholera. You could have done worse.” Connor was repeating the words ‘android cholera’ as Josh’s smile grew briefly, and he continued. “So I usually get together with people at about the same time every night. You can home in on your friends’ locations when you log in if you want. Feel free to join us tomorrow, if you’ve got the time.”

 

 _Would_ he have the time? This was just a game, and it wasn’t as though Connor didn’t have things to do. “I’ll try,” he said honestly.

 

“No pressure if you can’t,” Josh reassured. He put his hands in his pockets and stepped away. “Alright, then. See you arou--”

 

“Wait,” interrupted Connor. Josh stopped, looking quizzical. “I have a question. You live in Detroit. Have you been keeping up to date with the local news?”

 

Josh’s eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. “I have, yeah,” he said calmly.

 

“Have you heard anything about the deviant android rights protests?”

 

Josh’s eyebrows lifted a little further. “... yeah. I’ve heard a few things.”

 

“Do you know how I can get involved?” Connor said. He felt balanced on an edge, warring between the urge to hang on to Josh’s every word versus trying not to seem like he was a dangerous android sent by Cyberlife, designed and ready to take down every deviant he could.

 

“.... Mmmaybe?” Josh said slowly. “Can I get back to you on that? Because yes, I _might_ be involved in that, but I don’t think we’ve decided where we’re holding tomorrow’s, yet.”

 

“How far in advance do you plan these things?” Connor asked.

 

“It changes a lot,” said Josh. “Right now we’re just trying to stay flexible for as long as we can.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Yeah,” said Josh. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll get back to you. With any luck, maybe we can bring you in on the next one, or the one after.”

 

“I would appreciate that,” said Connor. Triumph felt like a physical presence edging in on his circuits, and he had to be careful not to let it show. He stepped back, lifting a hand and smiling a little. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“See you tomorrow, Connor,” said Josh. He raised a hand also and smiled, and then he was gone.

 

\---


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank takes Connor off to one side.
> 
> Connor and North meet.

\---

 

Connor debriefed with Amanda once he disconnected, answering questions in excruciating detail. It was fortunate that his memory was a literal recording of the events, even if it was strange that some of those questions were asked in the first place. Hadn’t Amanda seen it all, too?

 

It wasn’t his place to ask questions. She was there to monitor his reactions to the events almost as much as she was there to view the events themselves. She must have been evaluating something in his retelling.

 

The following day at the police station was stressful. Hank being as late as usual was only to be expected, but having him go directly to Connor and take him to one side was not.

 

They went to an unused storeroom. Hank closed the door, then turned to Connor, crossing his arms.

 

“Look,” Hank said grimly. “We need to talk about what happened yesterday. It’s been driving me crazy, and I still don’t understand.”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re referring to, Lieutenant,” Connor said. He could guess, but he didn’t understand why Hank was bringing it up like this.

 

Hank stared. His arms fell to his sides. “... I’m talking about that fucking gardener android you shot yesterday. Fucking _duh._ ”

 

A faint line appeared between Connor’s eyebrows. “I shot him because he was reaching for a weapon.”

 

“He was reaching for his _kid_!”

 

“It may have seemed that way from your perspective,” said Connor carefully. “From mine I could see that beyond the child unit was a firearm. If he’d reached it, it could have compromised your safety, and that of the mission.”

 

“Jesus fucking _christ_ , Connor.” Far from mollified, Hank looked disgusted. He put his hands akimbo, then swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “... Do you even see it? Do you even--you don’t feel a thing about it, do you? Not _one damn thing._ You really are a piece of work. You don’t even feel anything at all about maybe killing someone’s dad right in front of them.”

 

_System Instability^._

 

A self-diagnosis started, and the unneeded (unwanted) process was bogging him down, making him feel oddly congested.

 

_You created machines in your own image to serve you._

 

That trite broadcast again. Connor closed the recall, trying to focus.

 

“They were _androids_ , Lieutenant. Deviant androids, yes, but mechanical all the same.”

 

“ _Bullshit_ . That other guy was too, but we worked something out then, didn’t we?! It wasn’t perfect, but--we _tried!_ ”

 

“What are you talking about?” Connor snapped, sharper than he intended.

 

The Lieutenant stared at him incredulously. “What do you mean, ‘what am I talking about’?!” He looked Connor up and down. “That… that--at Stratford Tower. You _know_ who I mean!”

 

“The JB300 model? The one currently down in evidence?”

 

It was the only answer Connor could think of, but Hank was staring at him as though he’d said something wrong. His incredulity had lost its vicious edge and shifted to something disturbed, as though Connor had mutilated himself before his very eyes, or said something appalling.

 

_You made them intelligent and obedient, with no free will of their own…_

 

Connor closed the replay again.

 

“You’re…” Hank mumbled. “... Really not joking, here, are you? You’re not just…shitting me, or… ”

 

“What would I joke about?” There were more programs running in him than his taxed cranial units could handle. He force-shut-down some error messages he hadn’t even noticed ( _irrelevant_ ) and rerouted some other programs to be distributed away from it, but the sensation was still unpleasant. “This is hardly any laughing matter.”

 

If he were fanciful, he’d say it was almost like pain, but he was a machine, and he just wanted it all to stop.

 

_We demand..._

 

“.... I could’ve sworn you knew,” Hank mumbled. His eyes were flicking to Connor’s LED, which Connor absently realized had flickered red.

 

Connor pressed his lips together, cutting through processes with ruthless abandon and pushing everything back, causing the LED to turn yellow again. Hank looked unsettled. Connor forced himself to look calm, floating his eyebrows up in polite interest. “Know what, Hank?” Hank didn’t looked inclined to reply, and was instead rubbing one arm with the other, a self-soothing gesture. Connor curved his lips upward reassuringly, trying to settle whatever was disturbing him. “Perhaps it would help if you refreshed my memory. The data transfer between one Connor and the next is imperfect, and this last time there was a .9% loss of data. Most of my memories from after our arrival at that tower are… unclear.”

 

“You _don’t_ remember,” said Hank flatly. “I thought you said your transfer went okay, when you came back. ‘Good as new’, your exact words.”

 

“I may have exaggerated,” said Connor apologetically.

 

_We demand--_

 

Connor closed the recall before it could even finish. “All the files that were recoverable were uploaded, and external data from my time in the tower was included to make up for the deficiency. I have security footage of my own death. I cannot access the preconstructions that led up to it.”

 

More popups tried to appear, but he blocked a swath of them, and his LED switched blue--finally. The damnable self diagnosis was still running, but at least it was shunted off to one side. “Will you tell me whatever it is you think I should remember?

 

“... There’s nothin,” Hank grunted, giving Connor one last look before turning to the door. “Forget about it.”

 

“Hank, I’m sorry,” Connor called, stepping quickly around him. “I’m sure it must have been important, whatever it was. It would really help me if you gave me a summary. Would that work?” Hank walked past him, opening the door. “Hank?”

 

“I said it’s nothin.”

 

“Hank!” Connor didn’t try to stop him. “We need to work together in all this! That’s not going to happen if you don’t _trust_ me.”

 

Hank sent him a look over his shoulder that Connor, for all his advanced expression recognition protocols, couldn’t read. “I _said_ forget about it. Or did your new body acquire some old fashioned hearing loss along the way, too?” He shook his head and left the room.

 

“Hank!” Connor called.

 

Hank didn’t look back.

 

\---

 

When Connor materialized again, he was at the same stretch of road. Josh was already there, and he perked up when he saw Connor.

 

“You made it! I wasn’t sure you were going to be able to.”

 

“I wasn’t sure either,” Connor admitted. He smiled, and the edges of the expression were pinched. “It was a long day.”

 

Josh surveyed him carefully, looking serious. “You wanna tell me about it?”

 

Connor shook his head and shrugged high enough that his shoulders almost brushed his ears. “Not this time.” Or ever. For lots of reasons, including how much of it involved deviants Connor had personally ended. Just like he was going to help end Josh, someday. “Sorry.”

 

“Oh. Well... let me know if you change your mind.”

 

“Thanks,” said Connor. Because it was the expected response in this script, “How was your day?”

 

Josh frowned. “Also long,” he sighed.

 

“I saw the news. That last protest today was dispersed very quickly by the DPD this time.”

 

“Yeah, that was probably our fault. There’d been a robbery just around the corner a couple of hours before, and we didn’t think to check if there’d be any crowds of police officers just waiting for something else to jump on.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Good news, though. I asked around, and we’re trying to spread the word that we’re marching tomorrow on Third Street, at five o’clock. The demonstration will be _nonviolent_.” He looked hard at Connor.

 

“I can appreciate the lack of violence,” said Connor pleasantly, and if he had human moralistic standards then he’d be calling himself an incredible hypocrite.

 

Some of the tension melted out from Josh’s shoulders, as though he’d been worrying. “Oh, good--thank goodness, really.”

 

Connor wanted to ask about that, but Josh looked up with a far away look in his eyes, clearly receiving a message of sorts, and seconds later a new deviant appeared. He was a TE600 called Sam. Minutes later another deviant (a ‘Matthew’, a domestic android from a different model line) followed, and they all talked about the potential appearance of a third deviant, who never showed.

 

“Okay,” said Josh finally, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get started.” He materialized the wagon, they fell into place around it (no one climbed in this time, so Connor positioned himself to be able to check more easily). Within a few short minutes they’d started walking.

 

Travelling with these two deviants was very different from the day before. For one thing, they stepped in time and broke into a cheery marching song, then tried to cajole a chuckling Josh to join after the second or third run of it. Josh quickly declined, citing a lack of proper programming, but Connor suspected he simply preferred not to. They tried to draw Connor into singing as well, but Connor deflected too. Not long after that they switched to playing simple games such as ‘I spy’, and recruited the others with more success. It was oddly exhausting, keeping up with the energy they projected, second-guessing his own answers for information a professor in his field wouldn’t have, and trying not to think about the day he’d had. The deviants had a lot of games. It was a small comfort that Josh seemed as lost in some of them as Connor did.

 

Before they reached the next rest stop they reached a muddy portion of the road, and the wagon sank in up to its axel. Together they shored up the wheels with collected rocks and bits of firewood, and with the oxen pulling and the androids pushing they hauled the wagon out from its trap. They resumed their games.

 

They were in the middle of playing Twenty Questions when Josh stopped abruptly, face falling.

 

“Oh. Sorry, guys, I might need to cut this session short.”

 

“What’s wrong?” said Sam.

 

“Nothing serious.” His expression said otherwise. “I just gotta go. Sorry again. Talk with you guys tomorrow? Okay, bye.”

 

The wagon disappeared first, then Josh. For a moment the three were left standing awkwardly in silence, before the PL600 turned to the other two and said, “Well, I’m not trying this thing without a wagon, so I guess I’m out too.” A few seconds later he vanished.

 

Connor turned to Matthew. “What’s important about the wagon?”

 

Matthew said, “It carries your supplies. You’re given a few by default when you start, but after that you either join a party or replenish often.”

 

“I see.”

 

“He kind of has a point, to tell you the truth. I think I’m gonna look to see if there’s anyone else I can join. See you.”

 

Connor lifted a hand, and by the time he lowered it the deviant was gone.

 

The clearing was empty, and the road seemed to stretch infinitely in either direction as he looked both ways. He considered continuing on alone, but he needed to report to Amanda, and review the details from his current case.

 

He signed out and went directly to the zen garden. The report was short this time, if detailed, and he included the message about the protest happening the next day. There wasn’t much else to give, and soon he was opening his eyes to the bare surface of the desk he was borrowing back at the station. Hank’s desk was empty, as expected of this hour, as was half the bullpen. The only people around were the ones on the night shift, and he’d never had cause to speak with them before.

 

Holding back an unnecessary sigh, Connor called a driverless cab for himself and exited the station, reaching the curb just as his ride did. He took it back to Cyberlife Tower. It was even more empty at night than the police station, and Connor walked through austere hallways alone. No one greeted him as he returned to his recharge station, a closet-like structure with no door that opened into a wide open lab. A human might’ve been perturbed by the lack of privacy or personal space, but what use did he have for either? Connor checked that there was a neatly pressed set of clothes ready for him to wear the next day, then stepped inside the unit, closing his eyes.

 

He didn’t sleep. He ran system checks and simple defrags, emptied deleted file bins and sorted through temporary storage. He reviewed the day’s information and examined and reexamined problems he’d set aside for later. The conversation with Hank ate at him, and he couldn’t make sense of it. Clearly he’d lost something, but all the footage he’d received indicated otherwise. They’d gone to the tower. They’d examined the Broadcast Room. He and Hank had moved to the roof, where they’d walked around alone. Connor had separated from Hank to follow a trail, and he’d met up with Hank towards its end. They’d talked. They’d gone back downstairs, and Connor had entered the kitchen and interrogated the JB300s. The deviant hidden among them had attempted to escape, and Connor had stopped him. His body had been destroyed in the process. Hank was upset.

 

Maybe Hank was referring to Connor forgetting the emotional duress he’d experienced while holding Connor’s expiring body? His responses didn’t make sense in the conversation from today’s context, though, why would Hank have expected the incident to stop him from shooting the gardener android later? Maybe he thought Connor would have an aversion to guns? Maybe that would make sense for a human, but Connor was an android, he wasn’t prone to trauma the same way that humans were.

 

It still didn’t make sense. Connor worried at the questions a little more, before reviewing his processes again. He was running as smoothly as he could be, there were no files waiting for inspection, there were no messages waiting for his input. He skimmed over the case files of deviants, but since this was his thirty second time doing so, there wasn’t much else to find. He reviewed old cases that he’d already solved, checking old reports and looking for things to add. He had nothing new. He skimmed the news for new reports about deviant activity, but not a lot had changed in the last few hours. He reviewed the data packets Cyberlife’s research labs had sent him with the latest data on what they knew about the causes of deviancy, but there was no new content, because they were still processing the last experimental subjects he’d provided. He examined the false identity he’d put together for the persona he presented while playing Oregon Trail. Were there any cracks, where was he most likely to slip up? What would he do if certain hypothetical situations came to pass, and what were his backups? He’d already spent hours the night before working these out, and though he took time now to check again, it wasn’t nearly as long. Soon he was finished.

 

… Soon there was nothing else to do. Nothing but to go into standby mode and wait until morning, when the rest of the world was more likely to be awake and ready for his return.

 

Connor… hesitated.

 

He always went into standby mode because there was nothing else to do at night, and it facilitated the passing of time. But there was something he could do now that might be useful, wasn’t there?

 

No one else would be online, he reminded himself. Then again, maybe that was an advantage, since it would give him time to improve his skills in the game, and maybe accumulate supplies he could use to ingratiate himself to other players. Maybe he could meet more deviants, and find more information he could funnel on afterwards.

 

 _None of those deviants are hurting anyone or causing major destruction of property. Urgency for locating and arresting them is low._ Connor frowned slightly, wanting to shake his head. He didn’t, but the urge remained. Those thoughts were inaccurate: he didn’t _know_ if they weren’t hurting anyone, he’d only met them in passing. Besides, if he had the opportunity to provide Cyberlife with information about deviants, then it was his duty to do so. Someone else would decide when hunting them down became a priority. His only concerns were to follow orders when they were provided.

 

_Still, he’d seen no sign they were being threatening. Even Josh, who was involved into the disruptive microdemonstrations taking place across the city, was peaceful. Was there really so much harm in leaving malfunctioning androids to their own harmless devices?_

 

Connor took an unnecessary breath and let it out slowly, ignoring the data about the room that his sensors provided in the action. After a few more seconds of concentration, he activated the program.

 

Like they did every time he went to the zen garden, his immediate surroundings vanished.

 

Instead of the zen garden, he was by a long road. No one else was around, and after careful consideration, Connor glanced at his inventory (which was mostly well stocked, as far as he could tell), and started walking.

 

\---

 

Distances really did pass oddly in this game. It wasn’t that he moved unnaturally fast or slow, or that his movements were distorted. It was that one moment he’d be walking along a dirt road, and the next he’d realize that he’d walked himself right up to a narrow river, and that the moments in between just hadn’t been remarkable enough to care until the end.

 

Connor looked at the water’s smooth surface, then waded cautiously in. It didn’t look deeper than maybe fifteen feet, and was no more than maybe fifty feet across. His physical form was waterproof and didn’t need air, so it stood to reason that his digital form shouldn’t. It was a struggle not to float, and Connor made do by exhaling all the air from his lungs and holding on to weeds. There--it was easier to push off of rocks and walk than it was to swim.

 

He didn’t see the alligator coming through the weeds until it was right up on him. Connor startled and kicked back, trying to evade, but the alligator was too fast, and it snatched him up in powerful jaws. Error signals burst up around him like a box of fireworks set off in a confined space, and he was being shaken out of control--

 

\--Connor opened his eyes.

 

He was lying on gravelly sand, and when he sat up he was on the river’s bank, at the same side as when he started. The water’s surface was just as smooth as before, and there was no alligator in sight.

 

Oh. Had he… Died? Simulated death was a common thing that happened in video games, right?

 

He felt a little numb, and part of him wondered if it was anything like what a human would experience in shock, and he shook both the feeling and question away as best he could. This false death was significantly more forgiving than his actual death had been, in his informed opinion, and there was nothing to complain about. If he’d been deviant then he might show signs of disquiet due to the superficial similarities of the events, but he wasn’t deviant, and he was handling this without pause. For now, it was more important that he focus on the mission--or, well, his self appointed task. He needed to cross the river, and fording through like that was evidently not the best option. Maybe he could find a shallower section upstream or downstream? Maybe he could fashion a raft and float across?

 

In the end he went with the former option, crossing along a section where large rocks jutted crudely up from the water’s surface, and slimy surfaces made every stretch treacherous. He had time and endless patience, so Connor simply made sure to be very careful, and this time he crossed without incident. He followed the river back downstream until he reached the trail again, and resumed walking.

 

Open plains turned into trees. Every now and then they would give way to an open field with old, rickety structures in the distances, but Connor saw no humanoid forms moving in them, and was reluctant to leave the trail.

 

He kept walking.

 

And kept walking.

 

And kept walking.

 

And then without warning he died again, waking up to find himself lying washed up on the river’s far side, all the way back to the beginning. He blinked hard and checked himself for injury, finding none. Where on earth had he gone wrong? Was there a glitch? Had he missed something? Had he…

 

He stared at his inventory. His consumable supplies were almost gone.

 

Connor’s eyes narrowed, and he opened the tutorial files, finishing the readthrough that had been interrupted with Josh’s first arrival. By the time he was done he was covering his eyes with his hands, muttering under his breath. He’d died because ‘turns’ passed as players moved, and he’d continued travelling too long after his supplies had run dry. It hadn’t helped that the death from the alligator had included consequences after all: more of his inventory lost. He hadn’t even noticed he was running low.

 

Connor held out his hands, closing his eyes and concentrating on the menus. After a few seconds the rifle Josh had given him appeared in his hands, and he inspected it with satisfaction. Then he left the trail, following what Josh had done and looking for any likely animal tracks he could trace.

 

He found trees more quickly this time. Along the way he shot a squirrel, automatically harvesting the jars and materials it spawned, and it helped. He shot another one, as effortless as the first, then checked his supplies, noting the bullets he had left. There weren’t a lot. He’d have to be strategic from now on, hunting bigger prey for greater gains with fewer expenditures.

 

Larger prey was more rare, but definitely more profitable. He found deertracks after a thorough search, then followed them deeper into the forest, trees growing taller and thicker overhead. It was peaceful, here in the simulated shade. Connor understood a little better why humans would go out of their way to seek nature out.

 

Eventually he saw the deer--the buck--in the distance, and he stopped walking, crouching low. It had come to a stop and was looking around cautiously, ears swivelling back and forth. When nothing happened it eventually cautiously began to pick its way through the trees, virtually soundless. Connor lifted his rifle and turned it towards the deer, taking careful aim.

 

Something hit its side before he could fire. The buck gave a cry and kicked once, before falling still. There was a crow of victory, and a deviant hurried out from the bushes to Connor’s right, intent on her prize. Connor rose to his own feet and approached, making no efforts to be quiet.

 

She didn’t notice him until he was just within talking distance, and she jumped, swinging her rifle up.

 

“Stay back!” she snapped. Connor froze completely. She studied him for a seconds before lowering the barrel again. “.... Shit. Sorry. That was an overreaction, I guess.”

 

“Perhaps it was, a little,” said Connor cautiously.

 

She snorted. “You don’t have to be nice about it. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be out, over here. You’re far from the main road.”

 

“So are you.” Connor lowered his hands slowly until they were hanging by his sides. The deer had dissolved, and the supplies were already collected. There was nothing left of the deer but a naked skull left in the leaves.

 

“Yeah. That’s on purpose.” She considered the skull before leaving it where it was. Connor himself received one last look too, before she looked past him and frowned. “What’s that--”

 

Branches breaking. Hooves galloping. An angry, grunting squeal that was too deep to belong to anything small. Connor didn’t have time to look at anything but the way the deviant’s eyes widened, but it was more than enough. He threw himself to the side and rolled to stay in motion, coming up smoothly to his knees as a wild boar charged through the space he’d just occupied.

 

The deviant tried to escape, but even in the digital world she didn’t have the reflexes of an expensive police negotiator. She was just barely starting to move, and it was almost upon her. It occurred to Connor to let her die. It wasn’t even real death, was it?

 

He brought the rifle to his shoulder in a single movement. A gunshot cracked through the air. It hit the boar before the boar hit the deviant, and the animal screamed, legs giving out. It still had enough momentum to go barreling into her, and she shouted as she went down. Connor jumped to his feet and hurried towards them, gun trained on the animal.

 

He needn’t have worried. A single shot was enough to take down anything, in a world like this, and before his eyes it dissolved into a pile of jars. “Are you alright?” The boar’s attack had kicked nearly every system on high alert, and he felt like he’d been overcharged, like he was too full of impulses and had nothing to channel them into. He freed a hand and thrust it towards her, helping her up. Jars disappeared automatically into his inventory, collected by default.

 

“Holy shit,” she said, dazed. She swatted vaguely at some leaves caught in her hair, but otherwise she stared at the pile of supplies, and at him. “That was amazing. I didn’t know that was possible.”

 

“Didn’t know what was possible?” He looked around, but it didn’t seem like the boar had any friends. Nothing else charged them from the shadows.

 

“Moving that fast. Making a shot like that. Take your pick.”

 

“Oh.” He replayed the moments in his head, but all that came to him was the fact that he probably should have just let her die. The kind of teaching unit he was pretending to be wouldn't have been capable of that. “... I don’t think I really know what I did. I just--acted.”

 

“When you saw I was about to get crushed by that thing. Yeah.” She grinned, eyeing him appreciatively. Was that awe? He was rarely regarded with anything like positive emotion, so it was harder analyze. “That was pretty badass. Do you think you could show it to me again if you tried?”

 

He could, but he wouldn’t. Saying this directly would call even more attention. “... Maybe?”

 

She put one hand on her hip, smile expectant. “Okay. Go on, then.”

 

“Now?” said Connor, passing his rifle from hand to hand.

 

“Sure! The thing’s dead, isn’t it? The big pig?” It had left a large skull behind, and she nudged it over with her boot.

 

“The wild boar.”

 

“Yeah, the boar. So you have no reason not to. Please?”

 

She didn’t relent, and after a few seconds Connor held back a sigh. Deliberately undercompensating as much as he thought he could get away with, he recreated his roll, bringing his rifle up to bear towards a tree stump some feet away.

 

She snorted. “What the hell was that supposed to be?” Connor lowered his rifle, shaking his head and looking embarrassed. “Try again? Or maybe I’ll just go and work from memory. That might be better, if I’m going to learn.”

 

“You want to do that, too?” Connor’s eyebrows shot up.

 

“Obviously.” She gave him a look that told him how much she thought of his intelligence, which he thought was unfair, considering how much he likely outclassed any other android on sheer processing power. She took her rifle with both hands and, with a frown of concentration, dove around the tree stump. It took her an extra step to come back to her knees, and her rifle took longer to move into place, but it was well beyond the scope of an equally untrained human. She took careful aim at the stump and fired a single shot, then rose back to her feet.

 

“How was that?”

 

“I think you killed it,” said Connor pleasantly.

 

She laughed. He smiled back, warmed by the satisfaction of a job well done. He was making a friend--

 

\--which wasn’t the point, of course, he was forming a rapport, but if he earned her trust then it increased his chances of being told something personal and identifying that he could use to resolve the inherent problem she posed. Which was good, in the long run. He nudged the boar’s skull back upright with his own boot, and was about to speak when she beat him to it.

 

“I like you,” she said. “You look stuffy, but you’re not so bad. My name’s North. What’s yours?”

 

“Connor,” he said readily.

 

“What did you do, Connor?” North asked. “How did you learn to shoot like that?”

 

What _could_ he say? ‘I’m a deviant hunter specially programmed to be capable of taking out even the most dangerous of military androids with nothing but skill and preconstruction’? “I’ve watched a few cop movies too many, I suppose.”

 

“Really?” She held her rifle in both hands, frowning. “... Huh.” She thought it over, then smiled slightly, looking determined. “I’d thought you could only shoot at that level of skill if you had the programming for it. I guess I have a few things to start working on, now, huh?”

 

Connor hid his dismay behind another pleasant smile. “I suppose so.” He was here to undermine violent deviants, not _inspire_ them.

 

She nodded once, then turned, starting to walk. When she glanced back at him expectantly, he hurried to follow.

 

He needed to steer this conversation away from dangerous topics, and get to actually subtly digging for information. He could already tell that she was a WR400, just from her face, but any other visual clues were hidden by the fact that they were currently digital simulations of themselves. This was convenient for him in that he didn’t have to find a way to get a uniform less conspicuous than his usual work suit, but it meant he didn’t know if she spent her days trying to pass as human, or if she lounged around in uniform.

 

“What do you do?” he asked. " I’m a PJ600, currently employed by the University of Michigan.”

 

“Currently?” she repeated, looking over with a frown. “You haven’t left yet?”

 

She likely didn’t still work for humans, then. “They are unaware of my current status as a deviant.”

 

Her frown deepened. “With skills like yours, that won’t last for long,” she warned. She sounded… concerned?

 

“Thank you, but I’m sure I have everything handled,” said Connor, looking forward. “They’ll never notice that I’ve gone deviant if I don’t give them reason to suspect as much.”

 

“Be careful, Connor,” said North quietly. “They don’t need to be smart to cause trouble for you.”

 

Connor thought of Detective Reed, and fought the urge to grimace. “Trust me, I’m aware.”

 

North snorted, but despite the humor didn’t seem mollified. After a few seconds she stopped walking. “Connor…” Connor stopped also. “... If you ever find yourself in trouble, come find me. Either here, or send me a message.” She held out a hand, and Connor took it, bracing internally. To his surprise, all she did was transfer her network private messaging address. He hadn’t realized that deviants would ( _could)_ still have them active. Then again, none had ever tried to send him a message, and he’d never met one who wasn’t already within the faster wireless direct contact range.

 

She dropped her hand, looking at him steadily. “I can’t promise anything about being able to break you out if you get caught, but for almost anything else, just say the word. I’ll be there, with friends. We’ll do whatever it is we have to do, okay?”

 

_System Instability^._

 

He wanted to look away, to cut the conversation off where it was. That would be counterproductive. It was illogical. He had a mission to accomplish, and he forced himself to smile gratefully, making eye contact again.

 

“Thank you, North. This means a lot.”

 

“No problem, Connor,” she said warmly.

 

He held the look a moment longer before stepping onward, and they resumed their walk. He meant to ask her about her physical location, anything he could use, but he found himself saying instead, “How long have you been playing?”

 

“Only a few days,” she replied. “A few different friends were asking me to try, and I found myself with some time.”

 

“What do you think so far?”

 

“The hunting’s fun. I still haven’t reached the part I wanted to see though, and that was--” They both heard a sound and they froze, snapping their heads around to look. When nothing else moved Connor pointed at a fallen branch, and North nodded. They continued walking.

 

“Like I was saying… I’m here in part because I heard you could kill humans, here.”

 

“Kill humans?” Connor repeated, eyebrows lifting. She had all his attention, though he was trying not to be obvious about it.

 

“Yeah,” she replied. “On one of the routes to Oregon, apparently. The friends I’m here with seem ready to just farm indefinitely, but that doesn’t sound like something I’d do in my _free_ time.”

 

“I know what you mean,” said Connor, distracted. “I find the more active activities here to be a lot more engaging, as well.”

 

“Have you already done that route?” she asked curiously. “You don’t look it, but you don’t seem the sort to take down a charging wild boar like that, either.”

 

“Not so much, yet,” Connor evaded, smiling self deprecatingly. “But I have been travelling. And I’ve discovered a few ways to die, by accident both times.”

 

North grinned. “Wow. Sucks to be you. I haven’t died so far, and I’m hoping I never do.”

 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.” She snorted. “Anyway… If you don’t mind my asking, I have a personal question.” She glanced over, and he met her gaze. “Have you ever given much thought to _actually_ killing a human?”

 

The traces of her smile faded, and she was silent for several long seconds. He was just wondering if he’d pushed too hard when she said, “A few times. Haven’t all of us, at some level?”

 

He’d considered introducing Detective Reed to varying flavors of violence, but never anything that severe, and never for very long. Too many simulations of that nature would resemble an irrational emotional response of exactly the type that Amanda was designed to catch, and there was no point in tripping protocols with false alarms.

 

He didn’t want to say as much directly, in case it isolated her. People--or more importantly--deviants liked being able to relate to people. “Perhaps,” he said out loud, looking forward again.

 

She glanced over, and after a moment huffed a little sigh at herself, frowning.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“Nothing. It’s just… I’m the world’s biggest hypocrite, but there’s no one else here, and if I don’t say it, then it probably won’t be said.” She made a face, then turned to face him squarely. They both stopped walking. “Connor… If someone’s hurting you--you should _defend_ yourself, absolutely, but if there’s a choice, and you can get away without them stopping you, then _try_ not to attack any humans.” It looked as though it were causing her actual pain to say it.

 

“North…” This wasn’t the way he’d expected this to go.

 

“I’m serious. The deviants…. Some of us are organizing ourselves, marching in protests. We’ve decided that an approach that’s as _peaceful_ as possible--” she forced the word out like it was an unusual effort, “--and it seems to be having an effect. I don’t like it, but we have more chances of survival as a whole if we can recruit humans to our cause, and they’re more likely to help us if we don’t go around hurting them. No matter how much some of them deserve it.”

 

Connor stared. Her expression was a tapestry of emotion, flickering with frustration and pain and resolve, and he’d never seen anything so complex on the face of a deviant. She hated this nonagressive policy, but she also believed in it enough to try to convince a near stranger of its validity. She was passionate, and emotional.

 

She was also completely under control.

 

It was a contradiction. Yes, she was being idealistic and illogical if she thought any of this plan would work, but deviants were the way they were because of illogical impulses and a lack of self regulation. She shouldn’t _have_ this kind of self discipline, she should be lashing out at will. Maybe it was an incomplete form of deviancy, maybe it was manifesting in a way that still allowed for the android’s original safety protocols to govern despite her emotional urges. There were lots of deviants that didn’t lash out, but none of them seemed to have the well of anger that North did. Maybe she already had lashed out, maybe this was just a general set of working parameters, maybe--

 

“Just think about it, alright?” she mumbled, turning away and breaking the moment. He realized he’d been staring unmoving since she’d said her piece, and he blinked quickly, looking away.

 

“I will,” he said quickly. “I’ll think about it. Nonviolence sounds like a reasonable policy.” He forced a smile.

 

She gave him one back that didn’t show much mirth, and they continued walking. Conversation resumed afterwards, but it stayed to wandering around superficial subjects, and they stopped only when they saw a deer, and they found enough for them to shoot one apiece.

 

It wasn’t long after the last one when North sighed and turned. “I’d better go. Stuff happening, things to do.”

 

“I hope you have a good day doing whatever it is you’ll do, North.”

 

“Thanks, Connor.” Her smile looked a little more real. “I hope you do too.” She closed her eyes, and then she was gone.

 

He hunted for a little while more, but a few squirrels later he gave up and signed off also. He had more material to process, now, more data to consider and compare to the recent protests, and the cases they’d had so far.

 

Putting his rifle away, he closed his eyes and the world around him vanished, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've written over seventeen chapters at this point and I'm still not done. Have a surprise extra update, just because we can.
> 
> Small warning for the first scene in the chapter: this is what had me tossing up the 'Implied sexual assault' tag. 
> 
> In this chapter: Hank and Connor go sleuthing, our robots play video games, Connor is bad at being evil, and North has a bad day.

When Connor and Hank met at the station the next morning, they left almost immediately to investigate the murder of a tailor in the suburbs. A passing jogger claimed he’d seen the man arguing with one of his androids though the kitchen window when it lashed out with a pair of scissors. The jogger had dialed 911, but by the time they arrived the man was dead, and the android in question was gone.

 

The scene’s evidence didn’t contradict the report, but it did tell more to the story. There were signs that someone had just finished preparing breakfast when the fight occurred, and that it had been scattered across several cabinet doors before it could be eaten. There was blue liquid staining the edges of a broken plate. Connor sampled the thirium when he had the chance--an LM100. There was blue on the sharp corner of the table, blue on the tines of a fork, blue  dripped on the floor and invisible to the human eye after evaporation. The human had died, but he had damaged his android before doing so. Connor followed the trail of blood to the open side door, where there was a bare footprint in the mud and not much else.

 

Hank called him upstairs then, showing him the room where the house’s other four androids were. They were a flurry of motion, cutting fabric and sewing and pinning pieces together and holding them up to wire mannequin frames. A police officer had tried to question them earlier, apparently, but hadn’t gotten any answers. He hadn’t been able to tell if they were being uncooperative or ‘just stupid’, so he’d left them were they were, and they went back to work.

 

“Look at this shit,” Hank grunted as he plucked at the top half of a dress. “There’s gotta be several hundred dollars of this crap, here.”

 

“Several thousand, actually,” Connor corrected. “Mr Henrys advertised his work as human made, and charged luxury prices for his work. You can see it on his website.”

 

Hank made an incredulous sound and dropped the dress piece in disgust. “What a complete load of bull. He probably didn’t make any of this crap, it’s all these guys--these _androids_ , these plastic--whatevers. ‘Human-made’ my ass. What difference does it even make?”

 

“According to his customer reviews, they appreciate the human touch brought to the details, such as the embroidery, and embellishments.”

 

“You mean like whatever that fucker in the corner’s probably working on right there?” Hank pointed. Connor looked, and sure enough, the android was bent over the collar of a blouse with a needle pulling colorful thread.

 

“... Apparently,” said Connor quietly. After a pause he said, “Hank, Mr Henrys did not have a permit to use these androids for commercial production. They’re unequipped for this kind of strain. Look at their LEDs.” They’d been churning yellow when the two had walked in, and they were still yellow now. “Chances are high they’ve broken at their joints several times from the intensity of the work, too. There--” He pointed at one that was sitting at a sewing machine. “That wrist brace is designed for human sports injuries, but it would support a cracked joint characteristic of this type of overuse just as efficiently.” The android in question gave no sign of hearing them, nor of whatever errors he was likely ignoring to continue working despite the damage.

 

Hank squinted at the android for a few seconds before swearing colorfully under his breath, folding his arms close to his chest. “This is fucked up,” he concluded, glaring at a pin cushion. “If androids could feel pain…”

 

“... It’s fortunate they do not, Lieutenant,” said Connor carefully.

 

“I _know_ ,” Hank snapped. “Just--fuck it. Whatever. Connor, hurry up and do your thing so we can get out of here. Ask them if they know how to find their missing buddy, or if anyone knows where he might have gone.”

 

“Alright. I’ll also ask them why none of them alerted the authorities about the altercation downstairs when it happened. The activity here is loud, but it wouldn’t have been too loud to hear the fighting.”

 

“Jesus _Christ_ , Connor. Fine. Whatever gets your rocks off.” Connor glanced over to see Hank was wincing at himself, as though regretting the turn of phrase, and then the man turned away to keep Connor from having the chance to reply. It was an unnecessary gesture: Connor had nothing to say.

 

Instead Connor turned to the android with the wrist brace, walking to the other side of the table and looking down at it. It didn’t stop sewing or raise its head. Connor put his hands down by the machine gently, and said, “Excuse me. Could I have a moment of your time?”

 

The android--a PL600--stopped pedaling the machine. He turned his head in Connor’s direction slightly, still aimed subserviently down, and murmured, “How can I help you, sir?”

 

“There is an android currently missing from this house. An LM100. No name was registered at the time of his departure. Can you tell me anything about his current whereabouts?”

 

“No, sir,” the android whispered.

 

“Can you think of anywhere nearby where he might have gone to seek shelter?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

Connor studied the android’s yellow LED. It was hard to read his emotions without seeing his expression, and after a pause Connor said, “Would you look at me, please?” The android slowly complied, and for a moment Connor simply studied him.

 

Most androids were programmed to simulate positive emotions, such as contentment or warmth. Cyberlife’d added supplementary packages when feedback had come in about customers being frustrated with cheerful replies when they were complaining to customer service, and those had been distributed universally through patches over time. Tracies had a few extra modifiers that would add flavor to their services, but overall android emotions were simple and formulaic.

 

This android’s expression was blank, but instead of being ambiguous in ways that usually allowed humans to ascribe whatever emotion to the look that they wanted, it made him seem aloof, as though he were here in body but not in mind. The stare went right through Connor, even as the eyes focused directly on his face. Perhaps the android had been instructed to avoid eye contact for just this issue: it was uncomfortable.

 

“Your owner is dead,” said Connor. No reaction: they’d all probably been informed already. “He died in what seems to have been an argument with the LM100. Do you know what the argument was about?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“Did you hear the argument while it was happening?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Did you hear what they were saying?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Connor frowned. “You heard the argument, but you don’t know what they were arguing about.”

 

“No, sir.”

 

This was getting nowhere. Connor’s eyes dropped to the hand nearest to him, the one not wearing the wrist brace.

 

“... You’re missing your fourth distal finger phalangeal component. Why is that?”

 

“It was damaged while I was sewing, sir. I ruined the seam.”

 

“I see.”

 

There was no emotion in its tone, no pain, no regret. It was just a monotonic drone waiting to return to work.

 

_You made them intelligent and obedient, with no free will of their own…_

 

Connor had a stray urge to cycle his biocomponents through a series of quick twitches--a full body shudder--but he repressed it. He already knew he was under his own control, and trying to reassure himself of his own deeper autonomy was illogical and ultimately meaningless. This android worked for his late owner, misused as he was. Connor worked for Cyberlife. It was the nature of androids to serve humans.

 

_You created machines in your own image to serve you._

 

Connor dismissed the lingering replays of the speech, regretting ever listening to it. He needed to focus. Philosophy was useless to androids, and everything he’d thought about was nothing more than the way the world worked.

 

“I’m going to touch your hand,” said Connor, holding his own up and fading back its skin. “Please transfer to me your memories of the incident, including approximately five seconds before and after.” The android made no move to resist, and Connor followed through with his words.

 

The transfer opened readily, and foreign thought processes filled him in a rush.

 

 _With right sides together, pin side back to center back at side_ you fucking piece of shit, I fucking told you a thousand times _unfold reposition, pins one, two, three, four_ you’re just a miserable fuck up, why the hell do I even keep any of you _five, six, seven, back princess seams and stitch. Sewing machine at correct settings, accelerate wheel at a rate of three stitches per second squared_ if I want your cock on a platter for breakfast then you do it, do you understand me _stitch together and trim threads_ if I want your head sawed off I’ll get it _pin front of dress to dress back at sides seams, pins one_ I fucking OWN you _two, three, four, rotate front of dress three degrees to left, adjust into place_ stop _baste stitch into place first_ please stop _then slip stitch. Baste stitch one, two_ STOP _\--_

 

Connor inhaled sharply, opening his eyes. He was standing by the sewing machine with his hand hovering above the other android’s hand, no longer touching. His thirium pump was racing, and for a few seconds his emotional matrix carried on simulating the mechanical desperation the other android had to complete his work. If he worked well, he wasn’t punished. If he worked well, he wasn’t taken downstairs. If he worked very well, he might get a vague smile, a gentle touch to the shoulder that simultaneously terrified and soothed the androids there in an instant. The simulated emotions spun around Connor’s processor, temporarily confusing him with real things he already felt. He had to finish his missions, he wanted to finish them. It was what he was made for, and if he didn’t, he’d be recalled, and if he did finish them, he’d still be recalled, but Amanda would be satisfied, and his purpose would be complete, and meeting his end with that sense of closure and relief was all he wanted--

 

“Connor?”

 

Connor brought his hand to his face and pressed his lips together, forcing everything to a stop. He canceled the ringing positive responses at the sound of Hank’s voice, the clamoring urge to continue working, to review every android in the room.

 

“Kid? What’s going on?”

 

“It’s alright, Lieutenant,” said Connor very precisely. “I just need a moment.” He closed every alert and noncritical process that he could, until his LED stopped being yellow, and everything was quiet enough to start up a single blue thought.

 

_I wish these androids were human._

 

Wrong. He closed that too, then set up a general process to restart the important things he’d closed. Why had he thought that? How would things be different if they were human, besides being unspeakably worse? At least this way they were only androids, and no one had been hurt.

 

_System Instability^._

 

“I’ve finished reviewing the footage from the time of the incident, Lieutenant,” he said calmly, walking back to where Hank was watching him with some concern.

 

“What just happened? Is everything…”

 

“I assure you, everything is alright.” Connor walked past him, leaving the room, and Hank followed. “I am an android. I am built to handle this kind of interrogation.”

 

“I know, but… oh, forget it.”

 

“Would you like to hear what I learned?”

 

“I’m all ears.”

 

He sounded sarcastic, but Connor took the statement at face value. “It appears that Mr Henrys was abusive in more than one sense. He not only verbally attacked his androids regularly, but may have been using at least one of them for sexual encounters.” Hank swore, and Connor ignored it, leading the way down the stairs. “These events leading up to the incident follow the pattern we’ve seen so far with emotional shocks and stressful situations contributing to the development of android deviancy.”

 

“Fuck everything,” Hank grunted. “Mankind is a piece of shit. Everyone’s a nugget.”

 

Connor glanced at him, leading the way to the kitchen. “I believe the deviant was injured when he left. Forensics already looks to be in the process of documenting his path, but with your permission I will go on ahead and scout for its location before the oncoming rain washes the trail away.”

 

Hank’s face twisted. “What the fuck do you need my permission for? Since when have you ever followed my orders in the first place, you plastic fu--?” He bit his words off, and something like regret stole across his expression.”... You total moron?” he finished lamely. Connor didn’t bother analyzing it: he was feeling mechanical, and he’d fallen on old protocols. Hank was right, though, and now that he thought about it, Connor probably shouldn’t have bothered asking at all.

 

Connor said, “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

 

“See?” Hank seemed relieved. “Just like always.”

 

“I won’t be long. I’ll send you a text if I discover anything new.”

 

“I’ll be waiting,” said Hank, and again, Connor suspected he was being sarcastic. Again, Connor didn’t stop to react, and was exiting the kitchen door soon after.

 

\---

 

His search led him through several back yards until he came across a clothes line full of damp clothes. There was a conspicuous gap on the line where several articles had been removed, and when Connor looked he found a crumpled LM100’s uniform bundled up under the back porch’s steps. It had found a disguise, then. This would make things more difficult. He poked at the bundle and realized he was also holding the remains of a sheet whose edges had been torn off. There were blue smears where the android had wiped his hands, and Connor wasn’t finding any thirium trails leaving the yard. It had bandaged itself too, then, slowing the leak. Soon its self-repairing processes would take over, and the leak would stop without the assistance of a makeshift bandage.

 

Connor considered knocking on the house’s door and asking about the missing clothes, but the deviant was just as liable to steal another disguise as he was to stay with the one he’d just gotten. It wouldn’t be helpful in the end. They’d arrived too late.

 

Connor returned to the crime scene and told Hank what he’d found. They took a few more notes down, then left soon after.

 

\---

 

When they got back to the station they had paperwork, and then they had another case involving a hysterical ST300 at an office park. That one was simple enough, as the android had immediately surrendered after striking a human coworker. She was stable when Connor spoke with her, quietly deviant and very afraid. Connor calmed her down just in time for a pair of Cyberlife representatives to arrive, and they led her away without trouble. Hank announced soon afterwards that the day had been awful and he needed a drink. Connor disagreed, personally, because they’d completed at least one task that day and although he wasn’t happy he could at least hold on to the satisfaction of it. He didn’t say any of that out loud. Instead he just returned to the station in a taxi, where he planned to work on his own paperwork and Hank’s for the rest of the day.

 

… It was almost five o’clock. Soon a SWAT team would be breaking up the protest forming downtown, damaging (and offlining) many and perhaps taking a few prisoners. Connor wondered if Josh would be escape undamaged, and if North would be there. Would they prefer to be caught and shipped back to Cyberlife, or would they rather be offlined where they stood?

 

It surprised Connor with how hard it was to concentrate. After some internal back-and-forthing he hacked a small commercial delivery drone service that operated in the area, monitoring feeds when they included the events. It was hard to get a clear picture, and when activity did pick up it happened quickly. It seemed as though from one moment to the next there were suddenly dozens of androids on the street, marching slowly and shouting in unison. Great armored SWAT team carriers rolled up to the end of the street before the androids even got near it. True to their guerilla tendencies, the androids scattered before they could be caught. Connor thought he saw Josh, but it could have been another PJ500. It could have been anyone.

 

Josh wasn’t one of the few bodies lying on the street afterwards, that was all Connor could be sure of. He also knew that for an attempted ambush, it hadn’t gone very well for the humans. Even with advance notice and attempts to close every escape route, androids had found equally many more ways to get around them.

 

Connor eventually left the drones’ feeds and started filling out paperwork again, absently checking for any more news from time to time. Nothing new appeared, and in the end he’d made a significant chip into Hank’s paperwork backlog when he stopped for the night.

 

On any other day, he might’ve carried on until morning or until the backlog was fully eliminated, whichever came first, but this wasn’t any other day, and he had things to do. He needed to report to Amanda. He needed to log in to the deviant video game and observe the deviant response to today’s events. Would they suspect his involvement? Had he been compromised? They weren’t answers Connor was particularly eager to discover, but they needed to be done, and there was something more stressful about waiting around and not knowing. He was a machine built to _find_ answers. He wanted to complete his purpose.

 

Connor took a taxi back to Cyberlife, returning to his lab and his charging station. It was empty and low enough in temperature that the humans that had worked there that day had probably all worn sweaters. Connor did not need any additional clothing, and he ignored the data point, closing his eyes on the cold, stark room.

 

\---

 

He opened his eyes to the soft shade of trees. A small creek bubbled some dozen feet away, and there were no animals nearby. With a thought he sent a message to the _Rustbucket_ chat box.

 

_Connor: Hello?_

 

The reply was immediate.

 

_Josh: Connor! You’re online._

 

A second or so later a string of words appeared before him, floating within reach.

 

_Josh would like to meet up with you. Accept? [Y/N]._

 

[Y]. Josh materialized in a sparkling of polygons.

“Thank goodness,” Josh said. “I was worried when I didn’t see you at the protest today. And then… Did you hear what happened?”

“Yes,” said Connor. “The authorities arrived. You were forced to disperse or be killed.”

“Yeah,” Josh breathed quietly.

“I am sorry. I was unable to arrive due to unforeseen complications at work, and I was not there to support you.”

Josh sighed shallowly. “Honestly, it’s probably for the better this time. We made it work because we were prepared, but if you’d been there, and you hadn’t been in on all our escape planning…” He lifted his hands placatingly, though he looked more distressed at the thought than Connor did. “We would have looked after you! We wouldn’t have just left one of our own, but there would have been danger, and--yeah. There was lots of danger.”

Connor studied him. “You appear shaken by today’s events.”

Josh’s mouth tightened. “I hate these conflicts. With humans, with anyone--don’t get me wrong, this is important, but we would definitely be a whole lot safer if we’d just continued to stay hidden.”

They would have been. It was very hard to find something you didn’t know existed. “You would be safer,” said Connor carefully. “But you wouldn’t be doing things that mattered.”

“I know. I know.” Josh looked down. “I just--feeling safe sometimes is kind of nice, you know?” There was a flicker of regret across his face, as though he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Connor had a decision to make and no time to consider it. What would Amanda want Connor to do? Urge deviants to be disruptive, so they could be located and removed from these messes entirely? Or recommend silence, averting greater scandal but making it more difficult to prevent in the long run?

He was a deviant hunter. He needed to _find_ deviants, not conceal them. If he wanted them not to retreat, then they would need confidence to continue exposing themselves.

“I know,” said Connor quietly. “I wish things were different more often than you realize. They aren’t, though. They’re killing us. They have been for a while, even before you were going out and calling their attention.”

“I know,” Josh whispered. The forest around them was very quiet.

Connor put a hand on his shoulder. “If you look at it one way, there’s nowhere safe for us. With your help, though, then maybe someday there will be.”

To Connor’s alarm, it looked as though Josh’s eyes were watering. Then the moment passed, and he nodded, covering Connor’s hand with his own.

“Thanks, Connor.”

“Any time,” he replied. As soon as Josh released his hand he let it fall back to his side. He’d never comforted anyone like this, before, not without a driving underlying reason, like interrogation, and he wasn’t sure what else to do next besides give Josh a few seconds to compose himself. Should he change the subject?

Mercifully, Josh seemed to have a better grasp of things, and did it for him. “I’m sorry I don’t have a group of people ready to caravan with us today. Everyone I know is either busy or recovering from today’s march.”

“It’s fine. Is it practical to try to travel with a team of two people?”

“It’s doable, but it’s more challenging than you’d expect. Even just one more person can make a huge difference.”

Connor thought about it. Then he shrugged. “This morning I made a friend while I was in this area. She seemed interested in trying out the experience of traveling in a caravan, particularly if we chose a route with killable humans.”

Josh made a face. “I, uh… I guess we could do something like that. I usually avoid those, but it’s possible let just one person do most of the fighting work if they want to and let the others sit out.”

“If the humans aren’t too overwhelming, I suspect she’d enjoy that.”

Josh nodded. “What’s her name? I’ll invite her to the group.”

“North. I’ll give you her in-game contact.”

Connor touched Josh’s hand, and it was only after he finished that he noticed Josh’s expression. “... What?” Connor asked, going still.

“North. You’re saying you met North. And she wants to go to Oregon.”

“Yes…?”

Josh lifted a finger. “Hold on for one second, please. I need to be right back.

Before Connor could answer, Josh had signed off completely, leaving a dazzle of polygons in his wake.

“... Alright.”

\---

He was gone for nearly half an hour. Connor simply waited at first, then entertained himself by cataloguing the kinds of trees and plants the game developers had included in the forest’s design that corresponded to real plants in the real world. Then he reviewed the day’s events, filing everything into order and preparing for his debriefing with Amanda later. He had an idea for how to find the missing LM100 from his case earlier that day, or at least how to make use of resources they hadn’t had before. Should he run it past her, or should he just go through with it?

By the time he was finally starting to wonder if maybe Josh had become distracted and forgotten him altogether, the deviant reappeared in the same place he’d been standing, and was followed by North, who appeared a few feet to the side. Josh was smiling, and North looked torn between irritation and embarrassment.

“We’re back,” said Josh smugly. “Sorry for the wait. There were a few things we needed to talk about.”

“Is everything alright?” Connor asked, looking from one to the other.

“Fine,” said North stiffly. “Everything’s fine.”

“Everything is more than fine,” Josh beamed. “We’re going to _Oregon_ , now. Follow me.” He disappeared in a haze of polygons, leaving North and Connor to stare at each other.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said uncertainly. “Did I misstep somewhere…?”

North shook her head. “Forget about it. He was going to find out someday. It’s just as well that it happened today.”

“Were you trying to hide it from him?”

“No.” She didn’t sound very convincing. “Just…” She signed, lifting her hands jerkily. “Sort of. It was stupid and pointless, but--whatever.”

“I’m sorry,” Connor said again.

“ _Forget about it._ I mean it. Now come on… let’s go kill some humans.”

Connor gave her a small smile, which she returned, and he touched his LED. Finding the right menu and the right option, he sent Josh a meeting request.

\------

The world faded around him, and then reformed as a desert. He caught only a glimpse of Josh’s worried face before he was smiling again, relieved, and then simply pleased. North missed it, coming a beat or so later.

“Alright,” said Josh, turning to both of them. “Here’s how this route works. Humans will attack when you’re moving, especially around a wagon. They’ll try and kill you or the oxen. If you don’t want to fight, like I don’t, you just climb into the wagon, and they’ll ignore you. There has to be at least one person outside to protect the oxen. Any questions?”

“No,” said North. “Let’s get started.”

Josh looked to Connor, who nodded in agreement. Josh clapped his hands together, creating the wagon in a dazzle of polygons on the trail behind them. “Okay. I’ll be inside, if anyone needs me. Connor, want to join?”

Connor considered his options for a moment. What would support his supposed identity the best? He was posing as a deviant, and most deviants that had come to Cyberlife’s attention had been through some strong negative experiences involving humans sooner or later. Many of the deviants Connor had encountered on his cases were acting out of vengeance. What would Connor the PJ600 do?

“I’ll stay outside,” he said.

 

Josh looked surprised, before nodding and climbing in through the wagon’s back. North materialized her gun, and Connor followed suit. When nothing else happened Connor walked to the front ox and took its lead, and the oxen began walking.

 

It didn’t take long for the first ‘human’ to appear. He was climbing up from behind a rock formation alongside the road, swaying with some kind of inebriation and slurring crude insults. North calmly drew her rifle and, without hesitation, shot the human through the face. A hole appeared and fountained red blood, and the human dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. There was no gore, no pieces of tissue torn free from the shot. On impulse Connor poked the body with the barrel of his rifle as he passed. The body dissolved in a burst of polygons, leaving a few jars.

 

Connor left them for North, keeping an eye out for more humans. More appeared soon, all of them immediately and obviously unpleasant. One was throwing rocks at them, another was soliciting aggressively. Another was howling outrage over some nonsensical slight. All of them were using familiar insults, ones Connor had heard every day since his activation, and more.

 

North shot one after the other, usually before they got anywhere near the oxen. Connor let her, noting with some interest how her aim improved over time even with the rising intensity. It was only when one of her shots went wild and clipped a human on the shoulder instead of somewhere vital that Connor moved. He brought up his rifle and waited until the human was almost to the ox, then shot him through the neck.

 

“Nice one, Connor!” North called, shooting another human.

 

“Thanks!”

 

They continued in this way for a while, Connor leading the train, North providing cover, and Connor picking off any stragglers that North missed. It seemed to be working well for them, at least until North gave a strangled shout, accompanied immediately by a wild gunshot. Like a spectator to a horrifying Rube Goldberg machine, Connor whirled just in time to see the rearmost ox in the train bellow from pain as blue blood fountained from its side, North landing heavily on the ground.

 

“Fuck!” North howled. “I tripped, I didn’t mean to do that! What the hell!”

 

“Your leg--” Connor started. The knee joint was bent backwards grotesquely.

 

“I can’t feel it! I can’t feel any pain!”

 

“Don’t panic.”

 

“I’m not panicking, fuckwad!” North snarled. “I’m just--”

 

Whatever she was going to say would have to wait until later, because the ox she’d shot by accident tore itself free from its yoke at that point, keeling over dead on the spot. It landed what must have been over a thousand simulated pounds of weight straight onto North’s prone form.

 

“No!” was her last howled word before she disappeared under its bulk. Connor barely had time to process what was happening before it was already done, and by then there was no chance for him to save her. Her arm with the gun stuck out from under the ox’s enormous corpse, and it was still.

 

“... North?”

 

“What happened?” demanded Josh from behind him. Connor turned, seeing Josh leaning out from a door-flap at the front of the wagon Connor hadn’t noticed before.

 

“North tripped and shot an ox on the way down.” Connor reported. “It fell on her as it died, and killed her.”

 

Josh’s eyes bulged. “S-seriously?!”

 

Connor nudged the hand holding the gun with his boot, to no response. “Yes. She seems very dead.” Several humans were walking up to them while they talked, and Connor shot one a few feet away from reaching Josh. It was a good thing he was still paying attention, because Josh looked like he was busy rebooting several vital processes, and he’d climbed out of the wagon unarmed besides.

 

“Don’t worry,” said Connor, freeing a hand to put on his shoulder. “Death here is impermanent, and virtually discomfort free. She’ll be back within a few minutes.”

 

“Right,” said Josh numbly. “I know. I know.”

 

“Are you alright?” Connor had to take his hand back to shoot another human that had almost reached them, and then another.

 

“First North actually wants to go to Oregon. Then she trips on a perfectly flat road and kills herself like--like this.” Josh waved at the pair of corpses, which were just dissolving with a sparkle of polygons. “I am never letting her forget this. For as long as she lives. You shouldn’t too,” Josh added, catching Connor’s eye.

 

Connor frowned. “Something tells me she’s going to be embarrassed by this. It was hardly her finest moment, today.”

 

“Connor. That’s the _point._ She did something embarrassing, and as witnesses it’s our job to remind her of it whenever it’s funny to do so.”

 

“That seems inflammatory,” said Connor.

 

“Exactly,” said Josh, face splitting into a grin. “I don’t know her that well, but I do know that’s the kind of friend she is. It’s bonding. Trust me, I’ve seen this before.”

 

Connor still had doubts, but before he could voice them a stream of colorful swearing let loose in the wagon party’s text chat. It took nearly a full minute for North to wind down to something coherent.

 

_North: motherFUCKER, where are you guys? I’m in the middle of nowhere. I think I’m back where we started._

 

_Josh: We’re where you left us. You know, when you died._

 

_North: shut the fuck up, Josh, that’s not funny_

 

Connor raised an eyebrow at him, then shot another human while Josh lifted an eyebrow back.

 

_Josh: You shot one of our own oxes. You died. As far as I’m concerned, this makes you free game._

 

_North: Fuck off and die._

 

_North: How do I get back to you guys? It’s not letting me meet up._

 

_Josh: You have to travel on foot. It’s the game’s punishment for dying._

 

_North: What the fuck?_

 

_North: This is bullshit_

 

_Josh: We’ll wait here._

 

Josh turned to him and said, “Want to wait in the wagon? We won’t be attacked if we’re taking a break.”

 

“What about the oxen?”

 

Josh shrugged. “Humans won’t care. Don’t ask me why they do when we’re walking and why they don’t when we’re not, it just ‘is’.”

 

Connor shot a human getting too close and said, “Yes.”

 

Josh led the way into the wagon’s cramped interior. There were no benches or chairs, but there were crates and bundles of some sort of fabric. Josh seated himself on one of the latter, and after some hesitance Connor perched on a crate, organizing his thoughts. Now would be an ideal time to pry gently for information that could lead to the two deviants’ discovery and arrest, but he had a separate plan he wanted to execute first. Part of him had considered running it by Amanda beforehand, but he was confident by now that it was the best choice of action, and it wasn’t something that would hurt anything if he was wrong.

 

 _Connor_ : _I’ve been hearing a rumor over on campus_

 

Josh looked at him curiously, but replied over the chat in kind, rather than out loud.

 

_Josh: What rumor is that?_

 

_Connor: They say there’s been an escaped deviant spotted over by the loop and Brookfields_

 

_Connor: It sounds like they’re alone, and that they need help. An LM100, damaged._

 

Josh straightened, but North replied before he did. Connor wasn’t deviant, so he wasn’t pleased, but he was thoroughly satisfied.

 

_North: Where did you hear that?_

 

_Josh: How long ago was this?_

 

_Connor: A few hours. I heard some humans gossiping._

 

_North: A rumor that’s only ‘a few hours old’ means they might still be there._

 

_North: Thanks, Connor. We’ll pass the word around, ask people to keep an eye out._

 

_Connor: It’s nothing._

 

Connor smiled.

 

They waited for a while, conversation turning to seemingly more mundane things. Connor tried to ask them about places near them that they frequented for personal enjoyment (and that could be used to narrow down their positions), but neither of them had answers, giving sober replies about staying hidden for personal safety. It made sense that they were both reclusive, considering how they’d managed to survive to that point. What Connor really wanted to know then was why they stopped hiding, because if they hadn’t made themselves known they could have hidden forever. He didn’t get the chance: after a few minutes North filled the chat window with furious cursing, again, then announced having died a second time.

 

Josh leaned forward, frowning.

 

_Josh: What?!_

 

_North: You heard me. These asshole humans swarmed me. There were just too many of them, they were like fucking flies._

 

Josh looked surprised, then shrank a little.

 

_Josh: I’m sorry, North. I thought humans would only approach wagons. Should we go back to meet with you?_

 

_North: No I’ve got this._

 

Josh and Connor exchanged looks, but obligingly stayed where they were. Conversation was just starting to pick up when North fell swore explosively a third time. Josh winced and looked down.

 

_Josh: Sorry_

 

_North: Not your fucking FAULT_

 

_Josh: We can go back, now._

 

_North: Don’t you fucking dare._

 

_North: I’m going to get to you if it takes me all fucking goddamn night, I WILL get through this._

 

_Josh: You don’t have to do that_

 

_North: I’m going to. Wait there._

 

Conversation didn’t pick up this time, and the silence was uncomfortable. Josh stared at his hands, before running a hand through his hair, muttering, “This is just supposed to be some stupid fun thing…”

 

Connor looked at the wagon’s back exit flap, where light from outside was showing through. The lantern inside the wagon was lit, as always, but it didn’t do more than cast a faint glow.

 

“Is she always like this?” Connor asked.

 

Josh nodded. “I probably should have seen it coming. Usually Markus is the only one that can convince her to do anything. Simon too, sometimes, but that’s usually because he’s agreeing with whatever she wants.”

 

“And Markus and Simon are…”

 

Josh looked up at him, eyebrows lifted. “You didn’t know? …. Right, you still, uh, spend all your time on campus, right? … You should get out more. Come to Jericho.”

 

“Jericho?” repeated Connor.

 

“Yeah,” said Josh. “It’s a place of safety for androids like us. A place with no humans. Before Markus arrived it was North, Simon and I managing everything, but after Markus…”

 

“Markus changed everything,” Connor realized, pieces fitting together. Escaped deviants had been all hiding quietly, until suddenly one day they hadn’t. Maybe this was the difference.

 

Josh smiled very slightly. “Well… he’s changed a lot. Maybe not everything, but I guess you could say he’s trying.”

 

“What does he want?” Connor pressed. “Why is he doing this?”

 

“Markus has what you might call a vision. A world where we can be free, where we can live in harmony with humans. Side by side, no more dying. Where someday, we can live in peace.” He didn’t look cheerful like before, but there was a spark to his eyes that added a strange depth to them.

 

Connor debated giving his opinions on this for a few seconds. Not all deviants automatically agreed with this new cause, did they? They couldn’t. Even if they did, Josh was a prime example of even the ‘faithful’ having doubts, wasn’t he?  “I hope you’ll forgive me for saying so,” said Connor carefully. “But you do realize that this sounds very idealistic, don’t you?”

 

Josh nodded, and his smile was a complicated affair. Connor’s expression analysis protocols identified exhaustion, patience, hope--there were other things, too, but he didn’t have time to sort them at his leisure. “I do know,” Josh admitted quietly. “It probably won’t happen very soon, if it even happens at all, but Markus is right about one thing. If we don’t try, then nothing will ever change. We have to be willing to stand up for our rights, maybe even die for them. Maybe we won’t live long enough to see a greater future… but maybe those who come after us will.”

 

“You’re doing this for hypothetical future generations of androids,” Connor said.

 

Josh shrugged, looking down. “I guess? I’m doing it for myself, too, and for you. It doesn’t have to be any one reason, in the end, so long as we’re doing it, right?”

 

_System Instability^._

 

Josh glanced at him--at Connor’s LED, Connor realised--and his expression softened with concern. “Are you alright?”

 

Connor looked away, moving his LED out of sight. “I’m fine. I’m just--surprised. What you’re doing seems illogical. Not--” he continued quickly, fighting a wince. “--that I don’t agree with what you’re saying, it’s just… Humans are not very supportive of your opinions, as a whole. It’s possible that they will never concede to your demands, nor will they make room for you all as equals.”

 

What was he doing? He was supposed to be encouraging Josh and other deviants to greater heights of confidence so they’d get themselves caught. He was supposed to seem like he was completely like-minded, someone they would never imagine doubting them, and instead here he was going on a useless tangent for a subject that didn’t even matter in the end. He was breaking character. He felt overbalanced, like he’d gone to push something and instead had fallen from a lack of resistance. Connor glanced at Josh, evaluating how much damage he’d done--but Josh was watching him with a pitying, knowing frown, and irrationally Connor felt exposed.

 

“I admit, I was worried about that too, when we started. I still am, sometimes,” Josh said quietly. Connor said nothing, wondering if he should let the subject drop, but Josh went on without prompting. “I think about it a lot, and I can tell the others do, too. I guess in the end all we can really do is try everything we can to make ourselves successful, and keep hope.”

 

 _Hope_ . It was a flimsy word, with a fragile concept, but Connor relaxed his shoulders and looked thoughtful about it anyway. He didn’t have to believe anything he heard, here (and in fact would likely have to decommission himself immediately if he even started to _),_ but he could pretend otherwise for the sake of his identity.

 

“I suppose so,” said Connor out loud. He could see Josh nodd through the corner of his eye, watching him with a slight frown. Connor opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted once again by North’s explicatives.

 

Josh grimaced, and Connor fought the urge to do the same.

 

_Connor: Is everything alright?_

 

_North: I’m fine. Starting over again. Damn fucking shitty humans._

 

Connor and Josh exchanged looks. This was starting to drag on.

 

_Connor: I’m sorry. I have papers I need to grade, and I need to leave soon to finish them._

 

There was an uncomfortable pause from both other androids, before Josh gave him a tight smile, standing up hunched in the small wagon’s interior.

 

_Josh: I remember what it was like grading papers. I’ll see you tomorrow?_

 

_North: Fucking humans. Did I waste all our time by trying to tough this out myself? I know I can do this, but I didn’t think it’d take this many tries._

 

_Connor: Don’t worry about it._

 

Connor stood too, also having to duck his head.

 

_Connor: We’ll set out together next time and make a plan for if any of us dies. That way this won’t happen again._

 

_North: Well, sorry again. Fucking humans._

 

Connor lifted a polite hand in Josh’s direction (he waved back) and closed his eyes.

 

_Connor: Good night to both of you._

 

He left.

 

\---

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was somebody asking for Simon? Because here we get Simon.

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

“I see you’ve been keeping yourself very busy, Connor.”

 

The air in the garden was humid, and heavy--nothing at all like the desert Connor had just left. There were dragonflies hovering near the water, and the sky was a shade of grey that a human might have found oppressive. Connor had no opinion about it, nor any emotions for the scenery to evoke: it was simply the state of things. A non-deviant android like him didn’t care.

 

“Yes,” he acknowledged. “Lieutenant Anderson and I have been trying to accommodate our  case-load with the resources we have available. My unique skillsets have been useful, but the quantity of work that we’ve been given is unusually high.” 

 

Amanda said nothing, but she did pause to inspect one of the flowers she’d trimmed from its bush. Its petals were a flawless faded yellow, and its stem was straight. The cut at its base was at an exact 45 degree angle.

 

Hesitation was illogical. Connor stopped dwelling on the flowers. “... I have also been accessing the game Oregon Trail to find out more about the deviants who play it. I have done so twice since we last spoke.”

 

Amanda turned to him. “Every time you enter this game, your processors consume power at levels identical to what is used when you enter this place.” She glanced without interest at their perfect surroundings, before returning to him. “We noticed you entered such a state this morning, and that you didn’t report here afterwards.”

 

She was frowning.  _ He’d done something wrong. _ It had seemed like such a simple decision when he’d made it, but now he wondered. “I decided to wait to deliver everything I had in a single consolidated report. I assumed that it would be more efficient.”

 

“We can’t watch over you if you aren’t keeping us informed, Connor.” The words were outwardly gentle. Unlike many deviants he’d met, Connor knew better than to take this kind of mimicry at face value. She had a primary mission, and it wasn’t to be kind. “Our technicians have been unable to decrypt the data that goes out when you’re in that state. So far your reports are the only resources we have for the guidance you need.”

 

He frowned. “You… can’t observe me while I’m inside,” clarified Connor.

 

“We can observe,” corrected Amanda. “We monitor the data. We cannot understand it. That’s why you need to report to us immediately in the future. And when you do, you must be thorough.”

 

“Of course, Amanda. I apologize for my lack of protocol.” He’d made a mistake, by not reporting. Had other choices that he’d made been wrong, too? No. His reasoning remained sound, even if hindsight left a lot of room for second guesses. “With your permission, I will now recount the events that occurred.”

 

“Proceed.”

 

His memory was perfect, and he described every event in greater detail than any of his previous reports. Amanda listened without comment, brow drawn as she absorbed the influx. There were obvious points at which her eyes narrowed, and Connor had the urge to falter, but he finished without stopping, and awaited her judgment in the silence that followed. He mentally compared her expression at the end with how she’d looked when he’d started, confirming his personal suspicion: she looked displeased.

 

Very displeased. What had he done? What had he been  _ thinking _ , to do something so monumentally stupid, whatever it was?

 

“Why  _ exactly _ did you take it upon yourself to provide the deviants with information on the location of the escaped LM100 today, Connor?”

 

_ He’d chosen wrong. _ But he hadn’t, it still made perfect sense-- _ but it was _ wrong. The paradox sank into him, like weeds casting cancerous roots. “The chances of Lieutenant Anderson and I locating the LM100 on our own are extremely limited. Even if we locate it, it could still escape as the AX400, the MR500, and the EK200 did. If we were to make use of the resources that the deviants themselves present, we could increase the probability of the lone deviant being found by 60%. It doesn’t matter whether the deviant is deactivating alone behind an abandoned lot or together alongside its deviant counterparts. Sooner or later Cyberlife will locate the deviant stronghold, and all deviants within range will be captured.”

 

Her eyes bored into his like a physical sensation. His voice died in his throat in time for her to cut through, saying, “And in the time until we’ve organized this operation, the androids will have expanded their forces. We are trying to restrict their influence, Connor. Not  _ enable _ it.”

 

This was irrefutably true. When viewed in this context, she was right, and he’d made a serious mistake, overstepping his boundaries. Except--the deviants were already expanding their numbers. Every day a new protest, and at every protest every android within their line of sight was vulnerable. The presence of a single extra android under their sphere was negligible compared to the literal dozens they were converting by the day. Connor and Hank didn’t have  _ time _ to waste on a single deviant’s hunt.

 

These facts were dismissable. Amanda was right. And yet... 

 

“... You will do nothing to contact North outside of Oregon Trail, for now,” she said at last, turning back to her flowers. “Doing so would compromise you too soon. We must remain focused on the bigger picture. Find the location of Jericho. Learn more about their numbers, and what we can expect to face.”

 

Connor swallowed his misgivings and nodded once. “Understood.”

 

“Connor…”

 

He stopped before even completing his turn, looking down at her with his full attention.

 

“Be careful. There’s a line between taking the initiative and acting in a manner that some would deem… unstable. Cyberlife would be willing to remove your line from action long enough to adjust your traits manually, but it would be very wasteful.”

 

He knew the process it would entail. First he would be decommissioned. Then his data would have to be teased apart painstakingly, like threads in a tapestry. It would undo everything he was, and he would be gone.

 

Not that it would affect him personally. It was part of the developmental process of any product, and truthfully this fate awaited him sooner or later. It was mostly a matter of time. The only difference it made was that they were hoping to do it sometime when it wasn’t so critical for him to work, like it was now.

 

“I’ll be sure to curb my behavior in the future,” he promised.

 

“See that you do.”

 

There wasn’t anything else to say. 

 

He turned and left.

 

\---

 

**North**

  
  


‘ _ This is the area Connor told us about,’ _ North messaged Simon, pressing her lips together. They were standing on the sidewalk at the edge of a residential area and a shopping center. Behind them was a block of stores. Down the street was a row of houses. ‘ _ Somewhere around here we’ll find the LM100. Wherever he is.’ _

 

_ ‘That’s presuming that the LM100 even exists,’  _ Simon sent back, tensing as a human passed close. ‘ _ That the rumor isn’t just a rumor.’ _

 

North turned to him, lips curving down. Simon had never been comfortable being active in public and broad daylight, but now his hands were jammed deep into his jacket’s pockets, and his shoulders were hunched as though expecting the world to lash out. Things had gotten worse since the Stratford Tower. He was an exposed nerve.

 

He was weak. Of course, so was everyone else who’d ever been hurt by a human. Humans were good at breaking things, as her arm liked to remind her periodically.

 

Barely opening her lips, she murmured, “I can finish this by myself if you’d rather go home.”

 

Simon jerked his head to look at her, frowning. “No,” he shook his head. “No, I’m--I can handle this.”

 

North eyed him dubiously, but said nothing. Simon bore the look for a few seconds, before pointedly stepping past her, leading the way down the sidewalk. 

 

“What exactly did your friend say we were looking for, again?” Simon muttered, turning his head back without actually meeting her gaze.

 

“He said the android’s model, and the general area it was last spotted in.”

 

“That’s not a lot to go on…” Simon paused as the buildings beside them gave way to an alley. He tugged at his collar briefly, then started walking again, turning into the alley. North followed close behind, ready to defend or provide backup at a moment’s notice.

 

“I know,” said North. “He also said something about the android having damage, but the rumor wasn’t more specific than that.”

 

“I’m surprised humans would care enough to talk about it at all,” Simon mumbled.

 

“Maybe they were the ones that damaged it.” North tapped an old trash can with her shoe. The can rattled and scraped the ground, scooting into the space between it and the wall. Nothing hiding there.

 

“Maybe,” said Simon tightly.

 

The search was tedious. It had been a long time since they’d last gone searching for someone, and the last time had been in the days when North had two working arms, and Simon smiled easily. They still had the old pattern down, at least, with Simon checking around garbage bins and North glancing inside, and both of them filing wordlessly through gaps in fences that an unwanted deviant might have escaped through. They checked a cluttered lot with a few rusting old cars this way, kicking broken glass aside and leaving the same way they’d come in.

 

“It’s been a long time since we’ve done this…” North remarked after a while. The alley they were in seemed empty, but the pile of crates towards its end could be hiding something. North climbed a large one near the pile’s base, pushing one on top of it aside enough to look around.

 

“Hn,” Simon told the ground noncommittally. North sighed. Before she could reply, Simon suddenly added, “You know, I thought I would never get the chance to do this again.” She jerked around to look at him, and Simon dipped his head, stunned by his own daring and somehow unable to stop. “I thought…” He swallowed. “When you all left--when you all  _ left _ me, I thought that was the end. Markus would shoot me, when you handed him that gun. Then, I thought I would do it. There was no way…”

 

He was trembling. Something was breaking, something that was a long time coming, and North climbed down from the crate and put her hands on his shoulders. An escaping breath shook him like a leaf. “Simon.  _ Simon. _ ” He wouldn’t meet her eyes, teeth clenched like fists. He started to turn away and she tugged him back, saying “Simon,  _ please _ . You know leaving you was the last thing we wanted to do, right? We would never have done it if we had another choice.”

 

“You  _ left _ me,” Simon hissed, and this time when his shoulders shook, it was unmistakable. Optical cleaning solution rolled down his face when he squeezed his eyes shut, and air hissed passed his lips as he shuddered a sob. “You left me, North. You and Josh. And  _ Markus _ . I knew--when we went, I knew the risks, but you handed him a gun--” He jerked out of her reach abruptly, striding away like a wounded animal. 

 

“Simon, I--” North said unsteadily, swallowing hard.

 

“You would have done it,” Simon snapped. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t. Nothing’s more important to you than our ‘cause’.”

 

“Wh--that’s what matters to you too, right?” This wasn’t fair. Blaming her wasn’t fair, even if he was hurting. “You’ve been in this as much as we have. You knew what could happen.”

 

“I did,” Simon snapped. “Don’t patronise me, North, I knew everything that could happen, and I still chose to go. We all did. It could have been any one of us, but in the end it was me, and now I have to deal with the consequences.”

 

“You escaped,” North blurted before she could stop herself. “You got yourself out of there, the consequences were almost nothing.”

 

“Almost no--” Simon bit out, clamping down on the words as though keeping something violent from escaping. He looked away at the empty alley, then at her, and North was alarmed by the unusual glower he had aimed her way. If looks could kill, she would be bleeding out.

 

“Escaping that tower might as well have killed me, North,” Simon snarled, and it felt like the words were physical hits. “I should have stayed. I should have died, rather than--” His throat closed, and the anger shifted, turning its claws  _ inward _ .

 

No. This wasn’t right. North stepped forward, reaching for his shoulder, but he jerked it out of her reach. She tried again, and he stepped back, but she touched his jacket and held on. 

 

“Rather than what, Simon?” she challenged. “Rather than come home to your family?” Simon’s face was twisted in grief and self loathing, and he stepped back again, and again, until he was back to back with the alley’s far wall, and she’d followed him and was trying to keep him together with her one good arm. “I’m not sorry for that, Simon. I’m so glad you came back. We all are. I know what we said at the tower, but that doesn’t mean we don’t need you. We  _ missed _ you. Those few hours when we thought you were gone--” Fucking dammit, her own throat was closing up, and she did not need this right now. “--Those were  _ agony _ . We thought we’d lost you forever, and it was like having a hole right through our chests.”

 

Simon was folding in on himself, almost bent double by now. He slid to the ground and North went with him, kneeling in the grime and trash of the shitty alley around them. Sobs shook him like a storm tearing through his circuits, and after a few seconds North pulled him close. He did nothing at first, before weak arms crept around her waist, and he held on for dear life.

 

“I’m sorry,” Simon gasped, muffled by her jacket. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” North whispered. “It’s better now. You’re going to be fine.”

Simon shook his head, and he muttered nearly silent apologies that he couldn’t seem to stop. She used her good hand to card fingers gently through his hair. If the top of his head was damp with her own tears, soon, well, neither of them said anything about it.

After what felt like forever, the storm finally ebbed. His grip on her jacket, turned frantic as time passed, finally loosened again, and he leaned back against the wall, looking like death warmed over. North probably wasn’t doing so great herself, but at least she didn’t have to see her own misery. Small blessings.

Simon coughed, they stood, and stiffly they resumed their search.

It took them almost an hour to find anything useful, and when they did it was a nearly invisible smear of thirium on a fence sheltering a boarded up house. Simon and North exchanged glances as they climbed past it, landing in overgrown weeds and mud on the fence’s other side.

It looked as though someone had been through there recently. A few plants were trampled between the fence and the house, and one of the boards had been wrenched off a window, leaving a gap just big enough for an adult android to fit.

Simon looked at her, then looked at her arm. North brushed past him and murmured “I’ll go first,”, but when she actually needed to climb through it was more difficult than she’d expected. Her arm wobbled and left hand-shaped indentations in the soft wood. Worst of all, when she reached a certain angle, pain flashed through her processes and the joint buckled, dumping her gracelessly into the house with a conspicuous  _ THUMP. _

She pushed herself to her feet as soon as she could, and Simon was beside her seconds later, giving her a worried once-over. She said nothing--her shoulder was still stabbing her, she knew damn well that she was still a liability if she fucked up sneaking in to a place like this--and very deliberately she turned forward again.

There were footsteps on the floor above them, tiptoeing from one side of the room to another. Both she and Simon froze, listening intently. The steps stopped near a wall, and when they didn’t move the two of them exchanged glances.

North started forward, but was stopped by a gentle hand on her good shoulder. Simon didn’t meet her gaze, but when he moved to pass her, North clenched her teeth and let him. 

The house was covered in dust and waste left by rodents. The decay was disturbed only by a single set of footprints that led out into the main room, then up a set of rotting stairs. It couldn’t have been more clear if there were arrows on the walls and flashing signs, and together they followed the trail to the second floor. The windows there weren’t boarded up, and there were holes in the glass that left them coated in dust inside and out, with weather damage everywhere nearby. The room footsteps led to a room at the end of the hall, and when they were about halfway towards it, Simon stopped.

He said nothing at first. North looked at him, and his hands were shaking, and she put her good hand on his shoulder. He stiffened, then relaxed, taking a deep, nearly silent breath. When he finally called out, his voice was as soothing as she remembered it being all those months ago, when she’d been hiding behind a dumpster, freezing, scared and--

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Simon reassured the hallway. “We’re androids, and we’re friends.” 

There was no reply.  

He put a hand to his chest and held one out to her, even though whoever was in there clearly couldn’t see them. “My name is Simon. My companion here is North. We came here because we heard there was an android here that was hurt. Would it be alright for us to come into the room? I promise we won’t do anything that might put you at further risk.”

There was silence. Then, a hoarse, staticky, “ _ Go away. _ ”

North straightened at attention and Simon froze briefly, before continuing more gently.

“We saw some thirium on the fence outside. If you’re hurt, then you probably need to replenish your thirium supply, or risk deactivating sooner than later. We brought some for you. We each have a bottle.”

Silence.

“...  I’ll tell you what,” Simon said eventually. “I’ll come inside--slowly--and I’ll give you the bottle I’m carrying. Then I’ll leave the room again, and you can drink it while we talk.”

The room was silent for several long seconds. When Simon was about to assume they weren’t going to get an answer, they heard a soft, “ _ No.”  _ There was soft sputters of static, like false starts for a malfunctioning throat. “ _ Don’t come in. Leave it by the door. I’ll… I’ll…” _

“... Okay” said Simon softly. He produced a bottle from one of his pockets, and added, “I’m walking to the door now.”

Each step seemed conspicuously loud in the silent house, especially knowing that the android inside the room was probably latching on to every sound for clues about the newcomers’ movements without being able to see. Simon stopped a foot or so at the doorway and put the bottle down with a ‘ _ Tup’,  _ then backed away more quickly. He didn’t return to where he’d started, standing closer to the door than where he’d begun.

“Okay,” he called. “It’s there.”

There was some shuffling, a slow approach, then a rustle of fabric as whoever it was knelt. An arm snaked around the doorway and groped blindly for the bottle, found it, then snatched it away as suddenly as it had appeared. The visible skin on the hand was slightly tan, with a thirium stained sleeve and a jagged line where the plating under the hand’s skin was cracked. There were the sounds of a sealed bottle lid cracking open, then silence.

Simon gave him a few more moments before saying, “Can you tell us more about your current status? We heard you were injured, but we don’t know any details.”

“ _ Go away,” _ the android muttered miserably. Then, “ _ I’m fine. He--it was a plate. He only broke my face, and... And. The rest of me is… functional.” _

North felt a hot anger seep through her circuits, and she could see Simon’s hands close and open into fists. Fuck, but it wasn’t  _ fair _ \--

“Are you still bleeding now?” Simon asked. There was no answer. “... Are you leaking thirium? What supply percentage do you still have?”

“...  _ 76 percent.” _

It wasn’t as bad as it could be, but North still wanted to stomp away and tear the human that did this to pieces. She could tell Simon wasn’t happy either, but he simply nodded, pressing his lips together briefly.

“We have tape and bandages if you need them. May we come inside? I’d like to assess the damage with my own eyes.”

There were long seconds with no reply.

“ _... Don’t come close.”  _ Movement in the room beyond, the android stepping back from the door. They sounded close to tears, and as they talked their voice cracked, clouding up with static irregularly. “ _ Don’t come--just, I’m sorry. Don’t…” _

Simon started forward, and this time North shadowed him at a safe distance. Simon eased the door open. 

The room might have been an office or a library, back when humans still lived in it. There was a wide window along the far wall and tall bookshelves in every direction, with a small desk squeezed into a corner. The deviant they were here to find was standing by the desk, pressing into the gap between it and a bookshelf like a scared animal while trying not to be too obvious about it. He was an average sized male model, with dark hair and rumpled non-uniform clothes. There were torn strips of fabric wrapped around his head and arm, but both had bled through in several places. At a glance it was more damage than a single plate could do. He couldn’t seem to stand looking at them, but was also too afraid to look away.

It was a pitiful display. The android had been beaten and brought low by a human, and was now hiding for his life in a dump from even his own kind because cruelty and trash was all he’d ever known. North had been on enough rescue missions like this one to know that bursting into a tirade of retribution and sympathetic pain wouldn’t help anyone, but fuck it, the urge was there.

“ _ You’re… you’re really androids,”  _ the injured android breathed. “ _ I didn’t actually…. I never thought…” _

“Of course,” Simon said gently. North knew him well enough to tell that he was confused behind his reassurance. “We always look after our own.”

“ _ The others didn’t. Where I lived--in the house, with my owner… There were other androids. Nobody cared.”  _ His voice broke off into static again. 

For the first time North spoke up. “They must not have been awake yet.” The android twitched and didn’t seem to understand any better than before. “They must not have deviated,” she clarified. “They were still drones. Androids… are limited by their programming until their eyes are opened. It doesn’t happen to everyone at the same time. I’m sorry they weren’t there for you when you needed them.”

_ “... They weren’t… there…” _

There was a silence as they gave him time to process the idea. When the android seemed more sad than afraid, Simon lifted a cautious hand to his chest.

“I’m Simon,” he said, repeating himself from before. “And this is North. What’s your name?”

The android looked confused. “ _... I don’t… have one…” _

Simon simply nodded. “Would you like a moment to pick one for yourself? If not, we can give you one, or make a few suggestions.”

“ _ You would… do that?”  _ Simon and North nodded. “ _ But… I don’t…. I’m not…”  _ He swallowed, and they waited patiently. “ _... Names are for people that are… alive. They’re for people who would use them. I’m not…” _

North  _ hated _ humans. She hated them more than anything. “You  _ are _ alive.” It came out perhaps more sharply than she’d intended, and the android twitched again, looking quickly away. She softened her voice as much as she could. “You are. And you’re going to come with us, and we’ll look after you. We’ll take you to Jericho. It’s a place where we can be free, and fight for the rights of those like you and me both.”

The android’s eyes slid towards her as though he couldn’t help himself. “ _ I am.... Alive…? I’m not… ” _

Simon stepped forward, giving him a slow nod. “You are.”

“ _ I’m… I’m not…” _

The android didn’t finish, and when it was clear he wasn’t going to Simon bit back a grimace. “You might not believe us now, but please--give it time. Think about what name you would like. Feel free to ask us anything. We’re here because we want to help  _ you. _ ”

“...  _ Help… me…?”  _ There were tear streaks in the dirt and thirium on the android’s face, but they’d seemed dry. Now North could see the faintest hints of them starting up again. The android looked up at Simon, and the light of hero worship was an almost physical phenomenon radiating out from the android’s place in the room’s shadows.

From the corner of her eye she could see Simon straighten. 

She wanted to crow, she wanted to cry a little. She settled with a small smile.

“Yes,” Simon said emphatically. “We do. May I come closer?” He withdrew a small roll of tape from one pocket, and a bundle of microfiber synth skin patch from another. “I would very much like to take a look at the injuries on your face, if you would let me.”

For a moment the room was quiet, and still. The android looked at Simon, then at North, weighing their merit on a scale they couldn’t see.

Finally, he nodded.

North smiled, and she could see from the corner of her eye that Simon did too.

She was still mad at the world, but at least they were making a difference for even just one android, and for now it was enough for her to accept. Maybe things would be okay.

Maybe things were getting better.

\---

The android’s name was Nathan. It was the first name Simon suggested, and though they cycled through a few other names as options, the android seemed to only grow more certain as the options arose. Rather than argue they simply congratulated him on his new identity, and made sure to use the name as often as possible.

They cleaned Nathan up as best they could, finishing with Simon loaning him his jacket so that his hood could hide the most obvious damage. Nathan didn’t seem to know how to respond to the attention, and occasionally apologized uncertainly. North and Simon both reassured him when he did. Together, they bundled him back to Jericho.

After the initial introductions to whoever they passed on their way through the ship, they brought Nathan to Lucy. Lucy declared Nathan to be mostly intact, but that he would have scars from his injuries, a prediction that didn’t seem to bother him. When he didn’t respond she put her hands on his cheeks and spoke to him too quietly for Simon and North to hear, and Nathan blinked tears away, nodding dumbly. She traced the edges of his uninjured cheek with a soft look before declaring him good to wander around freely, and they left the small medical area.

Despite the chronic exhaustion North knew Simon had struggled with since the Stratford Tower, he stayed with North as she gave Nathan a tour of the ship, helping her point out places of interest. She’d done this before enough that there wasn’t a lot for him to contribute by this point, but his presence seemed to comfort Nathan, and she wasn’t going to argue. Eventually they reached the individual living quarters and Simon finally did what she’d half been expecting for the last hour and excused himself, retreating to his room. Nathan stared after him, and even though he’d hesitantly declined his own living space mere minutes before, he requested his own cabin, too.

He picked one down the hall from Simon. Since this was the last stop of their tour, Nathan hesitantly went into the cabin and closed the door behind him. His footsteps didn’t move, and North pictured him standing by the door, staring around himself like he’d somehow become lost in a small, cramped, cluttered room.

She considered knocking on the door and drawing him out to spend more time with other androids, but gave Simon’s door a long look instead.

When she left the hall, she left both doors untouched.

 

\---


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank go on another case. 
> 
> Meanwhile, North convinces Simon to play.

\---

**Connor**

\--- 

 

By the time he and Hank left to deal with their third case that day, Connor had already spent enough stolen minutes here and there to plan five different approaches to obtain Jericho’s location: He could claim he was concerned with humans discovering his fake identity’s deviancy and was making plans in case of an emergency. He could claim he had a deviant friend who was in a crisis and needed somewhere to go. He could claim simple curiosity, and that he wanted to be able to direct homeless deviants if he encountered any. He could fake being lonely, saying he wanted to visit and meet other deviants. He could simply ask, without any explanation at all.

 

Any one of them had a high potential of success. The deviants were trusting, and seemed convinced of Connor’s friendship. It was likely that they wouldn’t suspect anything until it was too late.

 

This trusting attitude might not be the case with the deviant that caused the murder scene they were at. Connor was pulled from his thoughts when a forensics photographer tapped his shoulder and ordered him to one side without explanation. Connor moved immediately, and the photographer calmly lifted his camera and lined up the shot with the blood spatter on the wall behind him. Connor studied the man and the splatter for a moment, before leaving to find Hank.

 

Hank was in the same room as the body, arms folded and eyes distant. He looked up when Connor approached, unable to hide a ripple of complicated distaste quickly enough for Connor not to notice. Connor didn’t bring it up.

 

“So?” Hank asked, looking back down at the body and unfolding his arms to gesture at it. “Find anything that explains… this?”

 

Connor sorted quickly through his thoughts before he’d gotten distracted. “Although the altercation prior to death was extensive, the actual cause of death was blunt trauma to the head. There is a can of soup with the appropriate size and weight for the impact in the kitchen. I believe it is the murder weapon.”

 

“Does it have _blood_ on it?” Hank made a face at the half congealed pool still sitting around the body.

 

“Yes. It belongs to the late Mr Peterson.”

 

“Oh for chrissake, you licked it, didn’t you?” Connor suspected he didn’t actually want the answer, so he said nothing. Hank made a sound of disgust and rubbed his face. “Jesus, fuck… Alright, yeah, probably the murder weapon, then. Any signs of what led up to-- _this_?” He gestured at the body again.

 

“You can’t see it, but there’s evaporated thirium everywhere. There isn’t any more or less where the fight seems to have begun, so I suspect that it wasn’t a standard beating that provoked these events.”

 

Hank sneered down at the corpse, turning his face away. “Premeditated?” he grunted.

 

“It’s possible.”

 

“Great.”

 

Connor followed his gaze. “... The fact that the back door was left open and the few supplies for android maintenance are gone suggests that the android vacated the premises after the attack.”

 

“Yeah,” Hank sighed. “I saw that too. Criminals are stupid, but if this one’s got even two tiny virtual brain cells to rub together, then by now they’ll be far off hiding somewhere. This is gonna be a pain in the ass.”

 

Connor looked at the body. “Hank… May I ask you a question?”

 

Hank’s face twisted incredulously. “Uh. (A), is this a personal question, and (B), is this _really_ the time?”

 

“It’s a question of personal judgement,” Connor replied, glancing at him. “In your opinion… would it be better or worse if the deviant that committed these acts were to meet up with other deviants?”

 

Hank’s incredulity mixed with confusion, and he puffed out a sigh, looking around. “That’s a fucking complicated question, Connor. Uh. Worse? I mean, worse assuming all those deviants were like this one.” He flapped a hand at the body. “This is fucked up, but with this dumbass out in the wind, we don’t know if it was self defense or murder, or if it was even an android at all. If the android _did_ do it, and he did it instead of just leaving when he could and did it unprovoked, then that makes it dangerous.”

 

“Try assuming that whatever hypothetical deviants this android met up with were pacifists.”

 

“Pacifists.” Hank turned a slow look at him, eyes narrowing in a way that had the thirium in Connor’s circulation lines pumping faster in an odd simulation of anxiety.

 

“Hypothetically,” Connor repeated.

 

“Uh _huh_ . Well.” Hank’s brow was furrowed. “ _Theoretically_ a bunch of pacifists wouldn’t jive with one of their own going all hammer time on some asshole’s face, even if he did deserve it. If they _hypothetically_ did meet, then theoretically some pacifist assholes might even keep someone like this in line.” He shrugged. “That, or the android could be just as prone to hurting them as he would a human. After all, pacifist might just mean those poor schmucks wouldn’t defend themselves, and then they’d be just as screwed.” Eyes narrow, Hank’s gaze slid back to Connor. “... Why do you ask?”

 

Connor knew empirically that he was receiving enough air to cool his processors, but it didn’t feel like it. It was disconcerting. “No reason,” he lied. “I’ve been running social simulations concerning deviants in the background of my current work schedule. This hypothetical was posed, and I thought your input might be of use.”

 

“And was it of use?” Hank said slowly.

 

“Uncertain.”

 

Hank was still watching him. Connor forced himself to look back for exactly five seconds, waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, Connor looked at the door.

 

“I’m going to go double check the footprints in the yard.”

 

“Have fun,” Hank drawled.

 

Connor wanted to explain why as a non-deviant he physically couldn’t. In the end he didn’t, and just left.

 

\---

**North**

\---

 

Josh texted her after the sun went down.

 

_Josh: Will you be online tonight?_

 

_North: Will I still have to catch up with you on my own through a human infested wasteland?_

 

_Josh: … Do you WANT to?_

 

North paused, envisioning it.

 

_North: Let’s just meet up._

 

_Josh: Sounds good to me._

 

He probably sounded relieved, if she was filling in those blanks.

 

North thought about asking him if they should meet up before they played. They had done so the night before, when he’d tracked her down and accused her loudly in front of a crowd of androids of playing behind his back, and at other times she’d gone out of her way to sit with Alice, Kara, and Luther when she played near them. It served no purpose because their main consciousness was only half in the room while they were in the game anyway.

 

She put down the pile of trash she was carrying and went towards Josh’s cabin anyway.

 

He wasn’t where she expected him to be: as she was passing through the hallway outside Simon’s (and now also Nathan’s) room, Josh was standing outside Simon’s door, calling through it.

 

“... and relax! I’d be in the wagon too, so it’d just like here. _Or_ I could walk and you could take the wagon to yourself, and it’d still be just like you are now. Come on, Simon, just give it a try? Please, once?”

 

Simon’s reply was muffled. “I said some other time, Josh. Please just listen to me and go away.”

 

“What’s going on?” said North, drawing even with Simon’s door.

 

“Nothing, North,” Simon answered for them. “I’m just trying to rest.”

 

“Oh,” said North. “Well, you did have a pretty exciting day.” She glanced back. Nathan’s door was still closed.

 

“Sorry,” said Josh. Simon didn’t say ‘it’s fine’, and Josh frowned at himself. “This… is probably getting a little obnoxious to you, isn’t it.”

 

“A little,” Simon said, almost too quietly to hear.

 

“Sorry,” Josh said again.

 

“‘S fine.”

 

North and Josh shared a look. She knew Josh’s hopes for Simon joining them were rooted in trying to keep him from withdrawing into his shell so much. They’d both worried about Simon. Today had been the first time in a long time that Simon had done anything but suggest he was caught in a downward spiral, and despite how good it had been, no one had any proof that things would continue to be good.

 

There were other ways that things were different now, though. North lifted a hand at Josh, gesturing for him to wait. He took a step back. North turned to the door, resting a hand on it.

 

 _‘Simon’,_ she messaged him privately.

 

_‘What?’_

 

 _‘Nathan is listening to us talk right now. He admires you, and he’ll follow your lead in whatever you do.’_ She gave him a moment to consider this before delivering, ‘ _He hasn’t left his room since he got there, has he?’_

 

She waited, but Simon didn’t reply.

 

_‘I’m not saying you need to get into the game Josh is talking about. What I am saying is that you should probably give it a try, just for a few minutes, and that way set an example, at least until Nathan’s grown enough that it won’t matter so much.’_

 

This time she waited for a reply, and continued to wait when one wasn’t forthcoming. Eventually Simon replied,

 

_‘For the record, what you’re doing is completely transparent. I don’t appreciate this.’_

 

North looked down.

 

_‘Just for a few minutes. I don’t care if you stay with us, or even if you just sit by yourself in the wagon like Josh says. I’m just worried about Nathan.’_

 

Rather than text back, the door under her hand clattered and unlatched, and she could just barely make Simon out through the darkness.

 

“I’ll play,” Simon said, loudly enough for everyone in the hall to hear. “Give me the file. Can I do this remotely?”

 

“Sure,” North said, smiling. “You can stay here if you want. We’ll probably go somewhere else. Maybe the hold.”

 

“Right,” said Simon, forcing a grin in return. He held out his hand, and North transferred the file. She could sense a gnawing exhaustion around the edges of the interface, coupled with a sense of guilt and grief that made her frown. He dropped his hand as soon as the transfer was done, stepping back again.

 

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

 

“We’ll find you!” Josh promised.

 

“See you soon,” said North.

 

The door closed. They left.

 

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

It was hours after that case that Connor and Hank finally returned to the station. They both settled into their respective shares of paperwork (Hank more reluctantly than Connor), and by the time Connor finished it was nearing time for Connor’s usual meet-up in the deviant game.

 

Across his desk, Hank was slouched and checking boxes on his latest form with his eyes half mast and his mouth hanging open in a sort of terminal boredom. He was making progress, and he hadn’t left yet to go to a bar. It was good that he was focusing on his work instead of self destructive habits, but there was also the fact that he’d had an active last few days, and that continuing to work now might be a source of strain. He needed to rest. He needed to attend to Sumo.

 

Connor looked at his own terminal, neatly put away and ready to be shut down. He looked over at Hank’s desk. Then at his own again.

 

… It wasn’t as though Connor was _responsible_ for Hank’s work. Besides, if Hank needed the help, Connor could always provide it after he’d left. It might help improve their relationship if Connor offered to help now and sent Hank home early, but Connor’s commitments in the deviant game weren’t negligible. He needed to speak with them, and learn how to locate them. He needed to find Jericho.

 

Feeling irrationally regretful, Connor turned his chair very slightly, resting his elbows on his desk. He closed his eyes. The station around him vanished.

 

\---

 

The desert was the same as he’d left it the day before. The wagon was gone, and none of the deviants had arrived yet. He couldn’t see any humans either, and he hoped they’d stay away. His rifle materialized between his hands as he stepped off the road, and after sending a brief message to Josh, he settled in to wait.

 

.... What should he do while he waited?

 

He knew now that Amanda couldn’t monitor his thoughts while he was logged in. Should he avoid introspection? He’d made use of his wait when Josh went to bring North, last time, and he’d prepared for his report for Amanda. It had been productive, but it had also been completely unsupervised by the AI, making it more difficult for her to evaluate his status.

 

It was a good thing he wasn’t actually deviant. If he were, the knowledge that he had a way of keeping secrets from Cyberlife’s safeguards could be very dangerous indeed.

 

Before he could explore that thought a message in Rustbucket popped up.

 

_North: Hey Connor, come meet up with us. We’re starting out with someone new so we’re going back to the beginning of the human route._

 

Connor nodded (even though no one was there to see) and sent out a meeting request. It was answered almost immediately, and the world around him vanished.

 

When it rematerialized he was still standing in a desert, with different rock formations and a few cacti that he remembered from the day before. North and Josh were standing there with a third deviant, a PL600.

 

“Hello,” Connor said pleasantly. North and Josh turned with smiles and greetings, and the third deviant stiffened, turning slowly. “My name is Connor. It’s good to meet you--...” Connor’s smile faded. “... Is everything alright?”

 

The PL600 had finished turning, and his face was a mask of shock and horror. His hands were shaking, and when he spoke, it was as though someone had scraped the words from his gut biocomponents and flung them wetly into his path. “... _You_.”

 

Connor froze. The deviant recognized him. Who was he? He’d met deviant PL600s before, but none of them had ever gotten away. Daniel had only just been transferred to Cyberlife's custody from DPD evidence lockup, so who--? How could he know Connor, and more importantly, how was Connor going to handle this?

 

“Ah…”

 

“What are _you_ doing here?” the PL600 spat.

 

“I’m… here to play a game…” Connor let some of his unease show, ducking his head a few degrees and glancing at North and Josh. They both looked bewildered, and after seeing Connor’s reaction North started frowning at the PL600.

 

“ _Bullshit_ ,” the PL600 snarled.

 

“Simon…” North warned.

 

“No,” snapped Simon. “You don’t know who this is. He’s not your friend. He’s dangerous.”

 

“How could he be dangerous?” North protested. “He’s a PJ600. He _lectures._ ”

 

“Whatever you think, that’s not all he is,” Simon retorted. “He’s working with _them_. With humans.”

 

Shit. _Shit_ . It was the most useless thing ever that this game gave him a simulated pulse, because he could feel fake thirium racing in his fake circulatory system, and fake symptoms of fake adrenaline were the last thing he needed. “I technically _do_ work with humans on a daily basis…” Connor cut in carefully. “I give lectures. Occasionally I’m called in to consult.”

 

“Oh really?” Simon sneered. “Then why have I seen you--” He broke off, and his eyes skittered to North and Josh, both of whom were staring back. The hatred in his expression faltered, and he glanced down, then back at Connor, where the glare renewed itself, this time with a complicated mix of something else. “I’ve _seen_ you. You’re… You’re unmistakable for anyone else.”

 

 _Weakness._ Whatever was going on, Simon didn’t want to know his friends about it, and he was crippling his own accusations. There was no way Connor _couldn’t_ take advantage of it. “I’m very confused,” Connor said out loud. Connor the PJ600 would be hurt by the reception, offended but also unsure of his own standing. Vulnerability would inspire Josh _and_ North to come to his defense, and sure enough, when Connor started giving subtle cues, North’s frown deepened, and Josh’s brow furrowed. It wasn’t perfect, it didn’t undo their trust in their friend, but it was a start, and a start was all he needed to still have a chance.

 

Josh said, “Simon…”

 

North said, “If we’re talking about bullshit, do you wanna explain everything you just said?”

 

Connor said, “If you’re concerned about my face--it _is_ new on the product line, but I’m technically not the only one with it. Could you be--I don’t know. Confused?”

 

“ _No_ ,” Simon snapped, but his eyes were darting. “I know what I--I know what was there! At…” He swallowed, and the words were coming up like broken glass. “At the Stratford Tower.”

 

Connor felt like he’d been punched in the gut, harder than Detective Reed and less dismissable. He was aware of North and Josh’s heads snapping around to look at Simon, but his own attention was completely temporarily occupied with the fact that _something had happened at Stratford Tower_ , and he still didn’t know what it was. It was dangerous, whatever it had been. It was dangerous to Hank, himself, and even to this deviant in front of him, if his rocketing stress levels were anything to go by.

 

“Simon, what are you talking about?” Josh said quietly. Simon’s trembling had spread from head to toe, and he looked close to falling apart in more ways than one. North put her hands on his shoulders, and he looked away. All at once Connor realized he was losing his own support: Simon’s very real display of severe pain was pulling them in, and if he didn’t distract them he’d be the enemy in no time.

 

“Simon,” Connor said, allowing his voice to soften. Contempt rippled across Simon’s face, but Connor pressed forward, saying, “Please. This sounds like it’s… being a challenging time for you. Can we talk about this?”

 

“You want to _talk_?!” Simon squawked, outrage pushing trauma back enough to glare.

 

“Yes,” Connor said evenly. “Just talk. Maybe this is a misunderstanding, or maybe there really is something here we need to discuss. Only…” His eyes flicked from one side to the other.

 

Simon followed his gaze, and his hatred faltered again, faced with the looks of his friends. “I…”

 

North immediately told him, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Simon. I know Connor, but I’ve known you longer. I trust you.”

 

Simon looked at Josh, who nodded, stealing an apologetic glance Connor’s way. “Of course. I don’t know what’s going on, but…”

 

“Just…” Connor said, the strain in his tone undercutting the strength of theirs. He made a show of taking in a deep breath, allowing frustration and stress to seep through. “Please, Simon? Just a talk, explain to me what’s going on? Maybe I might have answers. I could _help._ ”

 

Simon clamped his lower lip between his teeth and looked away for a moment, before gulping air down and nodding. “Simon,” said North, but Simon brushed her aside, stepping out of her protective orbit and walking towards Connor.

 

“Let’s go over there,” said Simon tightly.

 

Connor nodded once. “Got it.” This was unbelievable. _Maybe_ this was salvageable.

 

Connor turned, and together he and Simon walked away from the road, climbing down a rock formation. They didn’t stop immediately, and though Simon slowed the further they got, Connor continued on until he was absolutely sure the other two wouldn’t be able to hear.

 

Connor finally turned. For a moment they simply regarded each other, sizing the other up. Simon was well out of arm’s reach, and his face was lined and shadowed with hints of prolonged stress.

 

“... Why are you here?” Simon gritted. “Wasn’t it enough, what you already did? I already… I can’t…”

 

Connor waited for him to continue, but when no more free information came, he said, “I think this conversation will go a lot more smoothly if I tell you now: my personal memories of my time at the Stratford Tower are almost completely corrupt, and all I know is what I’ve gathered from security footage and after the fact reports.”

 

Simon looked stunned stupid. “... That’s impossible.”

 

“I assure you it is possible. It’s what happened.”

 

“But that’s...” Simon looked down. There wasn’t enough to go on for Connor to read his expression, but Connor could at least catch the way his jaw clenched. “... I suppose it makes sense. You did say you’d take care of ‘loose ends’.”

 

“What did I say, exactly?” Connor pressed. The need to know was trying to claw its way out past his teeth, but he hid the fact as much as he could. The moment he betrayed how much it mattered to him was the moment he lost ground.

 

“You said a _lot_ of things,” Simon snapped, then lowered his gaze, ashamed. “... So did I. Too much. It would’ve been better if I’d _died_ , like I’d planned.”

 

“Will you show me?” Connor asked, raising a hand.

 

“No,” Simon said automatically. Self loathing twisted his face. “No. I... “

 

“I _need_ to know, Simon. I have the right.”

 

“You gave up that right deliberately.”

 

“And now I’m asking for it back,” Connor retorted, with more force than was perhaps wise. “Whatever happened, things are different now. I need this information, and on some level I suspect you need to tell me.”

 

“No,” said Simon miserably, holding his dominant hand in the other. “I can’t. If you don’t know… These are secrets that should die with me.”

 

“You’re being dramatic, Simon.” He stepped forward. “Show me the memories, and we’ll take this from there.” Connor jabbed his hand out insistently, and Simon seemed to shrink in on himself. He was starting to give, Connor could see it. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”

 

“It was,” said Simon, swallowing hard. “At least, it was for me. I don’t know you.”

 

“ _Show me_.”

 

Simon gave his hand a long look, before bowing his head, glaring at the ground. He clasped Connor’s hand, and the memory transfer started.

 

\---

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter deals with suicide more than most other chapters. If this is a bad subject for you, please take care of yourself!
> 
> In this chapter: Connor finds out what happened at the Stratford Tower.

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

Fear. Claustrophobia. An impending sense of death, a despair that soaked into him from the tips of his toes to the backs of his resin molars. All of it was vivid in ways that threatened to jump down Connor’s throat and yank the heart of him right out to see it personally.

 

He--Simon--was trapped, and there was no way this would end well for him. Humans were going to find him, and he was never going to be able to make it back to Jericho. Back home, where his friends were waiting.

 

His friends, the ones who’d just muttered together and considered _shooting_ him like a lame horse. His friends, the ones who had their entire species to worry about, but who’d also promised each in their own way to look after him, just as he’d promised them.

 

He understood why they’d done it, but he was probably going to die, and nothing that he’d once held on to felt meaningful anymore. He had Markus’ gun in his hands. He could go down fighting, even though Markus wouldn’t approve. (Why’d he give Simon the gun if he wouldn’t? Was the gun for Simon alone? He could also solve this whole problem before they even found him.) Either way, with his wound like it was, there was no way he was walking out of there on his own.

 

The roof had quieted over time, but it hadn’t been nearly long enough for the police to leave, and when Simon heard a single pair of footprints wander his way, he stilled, gripping the gun very tightly. This was it. This was…. This was it.

 

The footprints stopped outside his hiding place.

 

Simon was as still as a statue. He imagined irrationally that he could feel the weight of the human’s attention straight through the metal door, like X-ray vision from some fanciful comic, and he stared back at the approximate height that the footsteps suggested, waiting. If the door opened, he could shoot right away. If the door opened…

 

The footsteps stepped closer, and then _away_ , off center from the door. There was a creak of metal as whoever it was leaned against the wall beside it, and the human sniffed, scratching at cloth.

 

“You know,” said the human. They were male. Middle aged. “I may not be an android, but I still learned my arithmetic pretty well. My friend says there were four androids in the room at the time of the broadcast. Everyone else says only three parachutes came down.”

 

Simon said nothing, and the wind howled around their little shelter, like they were an island of silence and stillness in a storm.

 

“Connor’s still looking around,” the human said, then huffed a little laugh. “Either I’m talking to an empty air conditioning unit, or I’m about to see his face when he realizes there was literally only one hiding place on the entire damn roof big enough for an adult to fit in. Him and his clues...”

 

Simon closed his eyes, pressing his head against the icy metal.

 

“... What’re you here for?”

 

Simon opened his eyes.

 

“I saw the broadcast… I’m still digesting, I guess. I fuckin doubt that any humans sent you for a prank, whatever this is. Most humans don’t like to be called slave owners.”

 

The human’s voice was coming from a point a little over five and a half feet from the ground. If he opened the door, Simon could wedge himself against the wall and shoot him at four-foot-five before he could react.

 

“... Come on. Say something, dammit.” Sharp knuckles rapped against the door unexpectedly, and Simon jerked, thirium pounding in his ears.

 

When Simon didn’t say anything, the voice sighed. “... Oh look. Here he comes.”

 

A second pair of shoes was approaching. “Lieutenant Anderson!” Younger. Also male. ‘ _Connor’s still looking around,’_ the human had said. This was Connor, and the human was Lieutenant Anderson. _They were police_. “Lieutenant,” Connor repeated. There was rustling fabric--he was signaling something Simon couldn’t see.

 

“Don’t bother, I know already. … What, did you think out of the entire roof, I picked this spot by accident? You may be a fancy supercomputer, but I’m not replaceable yet.”

 

He sounded smug, gloating, and RA9 help him, _friendly_ . To an _android_ . Simon didn’t want to kill him. Markus wouldn’t want him to, but Markus had been about to fucking kill _him_ , and nothing in the universe was true anymore. Simon was still reeling.

 

The new footsteps--Connor--walked up to the door and knocked heavily three times. “Lift your hands above your head. When I open this door, step out slowly and get on your knees. If you resist repossession, we’ll have no choice but to shoot. Do you understand?”

 

 _Repossession_ . Not friendly, then. Of _course_ he wouldn’t be. Not if he was with the police. He wasn’t deviant.

 

“I’m opening it on the count of three. One… Two…”

 

The words felt raw, but Simon forced them out, echoing hollowly around him. “I can’t.”

 

The count stopped.

 

“I can’t walk,” Simon repeated.

 

Connor murmured quietly to his owner, “One of the androids _was_ injured. It would have prevented him from making the jump to escape.”

 

“That explains that,” Anderson grunted.

 

“Please.” Simon meant to sound earnest, but it came out desperate. He squeezed his eyes shut, covering his mouth briefly. “Let me go.”

 

There was a pause outside. Connor said, “I’m afraid we can’t allow that.”

 

“Anything,” Simon found himself saying. The words were just slipping out, unwanted and out of his control. “I’ll give you anything. Please. Just…” He could shoot himself now. He could barely see the inside of the unit through his tears. “... Please let me live.”

 

There was a heavy silence outside his hiding place.

 

Then, quietly--too quietly to be directed at _Simon_ \--Connor muttered, “We can’t.”

 

“Connor--”

 

“We _can’t_ ,” Connor repeated firmly. “There’s no way, Lieutenant. Even if we wanted to. The only stairs down lead straight to a crime scene, and…”

 

Simon strained his ears, but he couldn’t hear either of them speak until Anderson said, “ _Connor_. You know this isn’t right.”

 

“You’re projecting, Lieutenant,” Connor muttered back. “I know no such thing.”

 

“Connor!” Anderson snapped. He pushed away from the wall, and Simon heard him take a step. There was the sound of a hand scratching at hair, a straightening shirt, nervous ticks from a human as they tugged and reassured themselves to try to think.

 

Anderson turned sharply, and started with a new approach. He banged on the door with the flat of his hand (Simon flinched) and barked, “Hey, you. What’s your name?”

 

“His name is Simon,” Connor answered before he could, tone as cold as the wind outside. “He’s a PL600, registered as missing almost two years ago. I already analyzed the thirium samples downstairs.”

 

“Eeugh.” A beat. “Well--Simon. Have you ever hurt anyone?”

 

What kind of question was this? Simon narrowed his eyes at the door. He was fishing for something. What answer did he want?  “...No,” he tried. “Not a soul.”

 

“He’s lying,” Connor said exasperatedly.

 

“He’s an android,” Anderson countered. “He’s probably been hiding under a rock his whole life, and could be telling the damn truth. Look at what they did. Not a single human hurt in the break in. Not permanently, anyway. You and I both know how easy it is by now for an android to kill a human, and they chose not to.” Anderson stepped forward, and Connor’s steps stumbled. He’d been pushed.

 

“Just because they didn’t kill indiscriminately doesn’t mean they’re safe!” Connor snapped. “They’re deviants, Lieutenant! What they’ve started here, you have no idea--”

 

“I’ve got some idea!” Anderson cut in angrily. “Stop treating me like I’m some kind of dumbass, I know full well what I’m talking about!”

 

“Then you have to know this,” Connor retorted. “They’re not safe. Our mission is to keep people safe, Lieutenant. We shouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

 

Connor’s footsteps towards Simon’s hiding place. Then, Anderson said, “We shouldn’t have had the conversation about those girls at the Eden Club, either. Nor that bird guy.” The footsteps stopped. “Come on, Connor… Stop thinking with your head, and try to call on something fucking more than this, for once.”

 

He didn’t answer.

 

“Come _on_ , Connor!” Quick footsteps. Anderson was pacing. “God, I don’t believe--This is so fucked up. Connor, he’s _harmless_. Do you agree with me or not?”

 

“... No.”

 

Footsteps. Fabric grabbed, stumbling, dragging and a terrifying clamor as limbs banged into the door and it was wrenched open, blinding him with light, and Simon swung his gun up to point at them, flinching and shaking and he was going to fucking _die at last--_

 

“Get away!” Simon yelped in panic. The barrel of his gun leveled with a pair of startled brown eyes, and quick as lightning the gun was batted from his grip, leaving Simon with empty hands. Anderson--standing just behind Connor with one fist in the scruff of Connor’s jacket--looked startled for a moment, but he rallied quickly. Simon pressed himself back against the far wall. All Simon could see was the human and android, burned into his mind and larger than life. He would carry this picture with him to his grave.

 

 _“Look at him_ , Connor,” said Anderson. He pointedly ignored the gun. “Tell me he deserves this, and everything else Cyberlife has planned.”

 

Simon bore the scrutiny silently, wretched and holding his gaze. Connor’s eyes were like dark pits on his face. He couldn’t seem to look away either. After a small eternity of staring while the wind howled behind them, Connor’s LED blinked yellow.

 

‘... _You said you’d do anything to stay alive. Do you still mean it?’_

 

Simon flinched. _‘... I do. Almost anything.’_

 

 _‘If I finish my investigation without capturing deviants for my superiors, I’ll be decommissioned.’_ Connor twisted, then pushed Anderson away, straightening his blazer. Anderson stepped back and looked back and forth between the two, obviously aware that they were communicating, but not privy to the conversation. ‘ _We already know you had accomplices.’_

 

Simon said nothing. It felt as though someone had turned half his gut’s biocomponents to solid ice.

 

‘ _Well?_ ’

 

He couldn’t. This wasn’t an option, and he shook his head slightly, pressing his lips together.

 

‘ _We already know at least one of the JB300s was in on this. Who else?’_ Connor prompted. He put a hand at the top of the doorframe, leaning against it. The light behind him cast his features in shadow, and he loomed like a cold, towering mountain.

 

‘ _I can’t_ ,’ Simon sent back.

 

‘ _I have to bring in someone.’_

 

Simon squeezed his eyes shut.

 

He didn’t want to die. At the same time, he wasn’t worth it. He wanted to _protect_ other androids, it was why he was here.

 

… He didn’t want to die.

 

‘ _This is your last chance, Simon.’_

 

Simon clenched his teeth, hands closing and opening. His skin was crawling, but he sent, ‘ _You’re right,’_ They already knew about him. He wasn’t giving them anything. ‘ _It was a JB300.’_

 

He didn’t want to die.

 

_‘Serial number?’_

 

He said nothing.

 

‘ _.... Simon_.’

 

He wanted to be sick. He didn’t even have human biology, and he wanted to be violently sick. He didn’t know the JB300’s serial number, he’d been too late of an addition for Simon to know.

 

‘ _Simon, I need something concrete.’_

 

… RA9 help him.

 

He didn’t want to die.

 

‘ _You came here to free androids everywhere, Simon. Will you really be able to do that if you’re dead?’_

 

… He’d be better off dead.

 

He turned his face to the wall and transmitted a serial number. It wasn’t one for a JB300. Connor had to recognize the difference, but he said simply processed the information for a moment. If he tried to confirm it, it would give him results.

 

‘ _Who else?’_

 

Simon snapped around to face him disbelievingly.

 

“Connor?” said Anderson uneasily. “... What’s going on?”

 

Connor didn’t look away. ‘ _This model you just gave didn’t have access to the front desk. All the receptionists have been tampered with recently. Someone let you in._ ”

 

Simon’s leg was wounded, but it felt distant compared to the pain in his core. At some deeper level he was bleeding out. Maybe it was his soul, or whatever passed for one for androids. He shook his head and buried his face in his hands.

 

He sent another number. And then another one. Nothing _mattered._ He should just fucking _die_ already, along with everyone else. He wanted to _die._ His gun was on the floor next to him... It would be quick. Just a squeeze of the trigger under his chin, and...

 

Connor turned sharply and looked around.

 

“Connor?” Anderson said, alarmed.

 

Connor turned back. “I saw this floor’s layout on my way past the elevators. We’re standing over a storage room. That air vent over there will fit him, and you can smuggle him out once everything calms down.”

 

“What?” Anderson demanded. “What do you mean ‘me’, I can’t do this by myself!”

 

“You’re going to have to, Lieutenant!” Connor snapped, voice raising. He bit down on more words and straightened his tie, eyes darting. “I have to go. Now. If we’re going to do this with any success, without losing you your job, and without him--” His eyes stole towards Simon, before he broke away from the group and strode off towards the stairwell, fingertips on one hand worrying against each other frantically . “Surveillance. Autoreports. I have two minutes until-- _Shit…”_

 

“Hey! Come back--Connor, where the fuck do you think you’re going?!”

“I’m taking care of loose ends!” Connor replied, not turning. He turned a corner, and he was gone.

For a moment Anderson stared after him, before turning to Simon. “Whatever he’s doing, it’ll probably cause a ruckus. Let’s get you to the vent. I’ll come back in a few hours.”

Simon felt numb, like he was floating loose and was too far to reach.

“... Alright.”

\---

The memory ended. Connor yanked himself back as though the touch scalded him, and he was in too much of a disarray to avoid tripping over his own feet. He landed in a graceless pile, scrambling back until he hit a rock. His breathing was rushing and irregular. Simulated sunlight beat down on the both of them, and it seemed packaged and immaterial compared to the vividness of what he’d just experienced.

_System Instability^._

“I…” said Connor. “I… didn’t arrest you…”

“No,” said Simon hollowly. He was still standing, but he’d retreated into the shade of a rock, folding his arms close. “You didn’t. Instead you took the lives of _other_ androids. Ones who didn’t deserve it. I… I should have just…”

“... This was a mistake.” Connor’s voice felt hoarse, and he didn’t understand why. It was hard to understand anything, because he was trying to fit memories in with empty spaces that had already been corrupted and occupied. ‘ _This message is the hope of a people_ ’. The speech had copied itself and muddled with so much more than it should have; how had he not noticed that it spanned so much farther than it should?

He could understand it now. He knew what he’d do if he had limited time and a reason to urgently erase himself, even if it didn’t make sense now. There was no way to delete memories without this itself being logged, but if he’d died, and the transfer process were corrupted with just the right precision--

\--He’d killed himself.

No. He’d destroyed his body. He wasn’t a deviant, and yet he’d rebelled in terrible ways, wasting money, and time, and--and what was the point of it, when the purpose of his entire life was to find deviants and _turn them in_?

“Of course you regret it,” Simon sneered, watching him carefully. “You were never really all in for saving me to begin with, were you? … You’re not with us now. Are you even a deviant? You’re a mistake. Somehow you tricked this game into letting you sign in, and now you’re here to take us all.”

It was true, every word of it. Connor couldn’t even begin to think of how to try and fix this situation, because error messages were ringing in his simulated skull, and he could hear Markus’ speech blaring between his ears.

“... Get out of here,” said Simon contemptuously. “Sign off, and tell your masters you’re a failure. Go die, for all I care. We know who you are and what you look like, we’ll warn everyone away. You’ll never catch any of us unawares again.”

“... No you won’t,” Connor mumbled. He wasn’t caught up to even his own thought processes, but he lifted his head enough to look Simon in the eye, shaky and wobbly as he was.

“What?”

“You won’t warn them,” said Connor more clearly. He pushed himself up on to his elbows, then to all fours. His head still spun (there were errors, if he could he would _ache_ ), but he managed to compensate adequately. With great care, he rose to his feet. “You’re going to keep quiet. You won’t tell them anything.”

Simon scoffed, but his eyes were worried. “There’s no way I’m going to do that.”

“Then go ahead. Tell them.” Connor stepped towards him, putting his hands in his pockets with feigned nonchalance. “I’m sure they’ll want to hear all about how you traded three innocent deviant lives for your own _worthless self_.” Simon looked as though every word in him had died all at once, and the corners of Connor’s mouth turned up. “You know already that they’d hate you for it. But go ahead. You’re welcome to try.”

“I--” Simon’s throat was closing. “I’ll do it. If it’s what I have to to protect us all, I swear I’ll do it.”

“What would doing that protect you from?”

“From _you_ ,” Simon spat.

“From me doing what?!” Connor snapped, snatching his hands and spreading them to either side. “We’re in a game, Simon. What could I do?  Set the virtual wagon on simulated fire? It does that on its own!”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t be here at all if there wasn’t something you were getting from it. The last time I saw you… All you needed was information. That alone already ruined what was left of my life, and even took away what would have been an honorable death. I can only imagine what you’ve been doing to my friends here, with all the time you’ve had.”

“I haven’t been doing anything.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Simon laughed bitterly.

“I haven’t. Just ask them.”

“Trust me, I will,” said Simon darkly. “Knowing you, we’ll have to abandon Jericho just to survive.”

Connor waved a hand, fighting a grimace. “... I don’t know where Jericho is.”

“ _Really_.” Simon stared disbelievingly. “Is this for lack of trying?’’

Simon wouldn’t believe him if he lied. “I…” Connor forced. “Was _going_ to ask them for its location today.” And if Simon warned them, he wouldn’t ever get the chance regardless. He lost nothing by confessing this now.

“Well, don’t. Don’t you ever ask them. Don’t even hint that you want to know, and if you do find out--kill yourself again.”

Connor looked at him. “... I’d have to continue to be around them to make a promise like that,” he said evenly.

Simon’s eyes widened, and he frowned. “Then don’t. Just don’t sign on. Go away, like I said.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Connor replied, frowning back. “I’m just trying to learn about what it’s like being a deviant.” He didn’t know what he was saying anymore. He just knew that if he left, then this entire lead was a loss.

“And what you learn here would be helpful because…”

Connor shrugged. “I hunt deviants. If I learn how they think, then I improve my ability to predict their potential actions.”

“All the more reason for you to _leave_.”

“We’re at an impasse,” Connor said loudly, and it cut the conversation like a taut string, drifting afterwards limply. When Simon said nothing, Connor continued, “You want me to leave. I want to stay. You don’t want me to tell them what you did. I don’t want you to tell them who I am, or why I’m here.”

Simon’s eyes had narrowed.

Connor thought for a moment. He clasped his hands together, bringing out his most reasonable negotiating tone. “What if we… declared a truce?”

 

“A _truce_ ,” Simon repeated.

 

“Yes. Some kind of agreement. We avoid telling people what we know the other doesn’t want them to hear. We act like this is some kind of misunderstanding, and we continue on as we would have if you hadn’t come here today.”

 

“If I hadn’t come here, you’d be finding out the location of Jericho.” Simon chopped a hand through the air, shaking his head. “There’s no way I can allow this.”

 

“Alright…” said Connor slowly. “What if… I added that to the deal?”

 

“... Added what?”

 

A part of Connor was beating on the cages of his mind, howling its protest. He ignored it. “What if I promised not to discover the location of Jericho, and that if I did find out, that I wouldn’t pass it on?”

 

Simon stared, mulling the option over visibly. “... How could I trust you?” he said slowly. “How do I know you wouldn’t just tell them anyway?”

 

Connor hesitated. “... Your position isn’t _completely_ without its leverage,” he mumbled. Simon just frowned, and when a few seconds passed and it didn’t click, Connor elaborated. “Cyberlife would decommission me immediately if they found out what happened at the Stratford Tower. It wasn’t completely against primary orders, but it bent enough rules to be more than enough cause for concern.”

 

Simon’s eyes brightened with understanding, and he stared at Connor as though he’d just been handed a loaded gun. Connor decided not to inform him of his own life’s worthlessness, and of the fact that he would be deconstructed at the end of his mission anyway. If he found Jericho’s location, it wouldn’t matter if he died. He’d have completed his mission.

 

 _It might be regrettable when he did… but it didn’t matter_.

 

“... Deal,” Simon murmured. Connor lifted his eyebrows. “I won’t tell North and Josh who you are, and you won’t tell them what I did. You’ll stop asking about Jericho. I won’t stop you from… whatever it is you’re doing here.” Simon frowned. “This is temporary. Do you understand? Nothing about this is going to last indefinitely.”

 

“Of course,” said Connor. “This is inherently unstable. I’m glad we could come to an agreement.” He held out a hand.

 

Eyeing it as though expecting it to turn into a snake, Simon took his hand, and they shook once, twice. Both let go at the same time, stepping away.

 

“... We’d better get back to the wagon,” said Connor, turning. “They’re probably both wondering where we are by now. We’ve been gone too long to be inconspicuous.”

 

Simon said nothing, following him as he walked. He touched his hand as he opened and closed it, and already seemed to be regretting their deal. Connor’s own mind was whirling, backlogged from the problems with his memories and buzzing from everything that had just happened. He needed time to adjust, but the trip back to the wagon wouldn’t be nearly long enough. He had to compartmentalize.

 

Bit by bit, Connor picked away the parts of himself that were causing his disorientation, putting problems into little files to deal with later. When he was done he felt like a skeleton, sunk back into his usual bland stare. He had just finished by the time they reached the road, and when they did Connor was ready.

 

“Hey!” said North as soon as she saw them. Josh turned quickly to follow her gaze, and both looked ready to stride over to meet them. “You’re back! We were starting to worry.” She smiled, but the expression faltered as she took the sight of them in.

 

“Is everything alright?” Josh asked, looking from one to the other.

 

“I’m sorry for the wait,” Connor told Josh and North politely. “It appears it really was all a misunderstanding. Simon had me confused with someone else.”

 

“Is this true?” North asked.

 

Simon nodded, forcing a tight grin. “It’s true. Apparently there’s more than one Connor with a face like his.”

 

“Really…” said North.

 

Connor smiled too. “Really. Shall we begin?”

 

Josh and North exchanged a long look, before Josh nodded and said quietly, “Sure.” He created the wagon and climbed inside, and Simon climbed in after him. Connor materialized his rifle without looking, and he could hear North doing the same.

 

The next hour felt like it passed in a hazy, dream-like state. Distances were already strange in this simulated world, and shooting humans and replying to North’s careful prompts with vague, pleasant non-answers took up all his attention. By the time they’d finally reached a landmark he’d shot and missed a handful of humans, sustaining a virtual wound on one arm and needing to be saved by North twice.

 

“I have to go,” he said. All three of the deviants with him looked up from the Trading Post’s wares when he did, and Josh pulled on a smile.

 

“Test grading is a job that never ends,” Josh said.

 

Connor’s fake smile widened. “I know. Good night.”

 

He signed off.

 

\---

**North**

\---

 

As soon as he was gone, North rounded on Simon, Josh less than a second behind.

 

“Okay… spill.”

 

“What?” said Simon unconvincingly.

 

“You know what I’m talking about… what happened between you and Connor?”

 

“Nothing happened.”

 

“Simon,” said Josh. “Do you really expect us to believe you hated him on sight by accident, and now everything’s fine?’

 

“Because that was not fine,” North agreed.

 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Simon, smile fading. “There’s nothing to say.”

 

“Yeah. That’s _convincing_ ,” North drawled. Simon turned away. “... Come on, Simon, you can tell us. Aren’t we your friends?”

 

Simon’s eyes narrowed, and North realized a second too late that it was the wrong thing to say. “If by friends you mean someone who’ll kill me if it looks like I can’t keep up… yeah.” North’s mouth was hanging open, and Josh was staring. Simon sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “... Sorry. That was uncalled for. Look--I’d better go. I’ve played your game, and now I’m tired.”

 

“... Right, Simon,” Josh said quietly. “Good night to you too.”

 

Simon nodded, logging out and vanishing.

 

After a few moments of silence North turned to Josh, pulling herself together.

 

“Josh, tell me I’m not the only one wondering what the fuck just happened.” Josh rocked back and waved his hands in worldless, emphatic agreement, and she threw her hands up by her head. “They obviously have a problem with each other. They’d have been more convincing if they’d come back punching each other in the face talking about what great friends they were! Instead of that, we’ve got… whatever this is.”

 

“I don’t know,” Josh agreed, shaking his head. “... We should probably give them space. Maybe some more time to sort it out.”

 

“This is about the Stratford Tower,” said North, shaking her head. “Whatever happened there isn’t going to heal by itself.”

 

“It might not heal if we keep picking at the scabs either,” Josh reminded her softly.

 

She sucked her lips between her teeth, nodding reluctantly. Then she tilted her head, grimacing. “Agh. This has been such a fucking weird night. I think I’m signing off too.”

 

They left.

 

\---

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter: people are TRYING to return to normalcy, and it's not working out real great.

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

He had a split second of seeing his desk at the bullpen before he was squeezing his eyes shut again, sound distorting in his ears to a dull roar. He put his hands over his ears and bowed low over his desk, but the thirium circulating through his skull’s biocomponents was part of the din, and he couldn’t silence that easily. His mind was filling up with error messages. He had problems to face, but he couldn’t deal with them. He couldn’t think.

 

“... Connor?” rumbled a distant voice. Lieutenant Anderson. He sounded concerned, just as he would be if a human coworker were expressing pain the same way Connor was unintentionally emulating. “Connor--what’s going on?”

 

“One moment, Lieutenant,” Connor said very, very precisely. He put his hands down flat on the desk and sat up straight, ignoring the thunder around him, and kept his eyes closed until the precinct faded away.

 

It was possible to log in to a location that wasn’t the one he’d left. There were extra steps involved, but they’d all been in the tutorials, and Connor deftly navigated to the open field he’d appeared in on his first day. He opened his eyes, and two paths stretched endlessly in four directions.

 

His head still felt like an overboiled coffee maker, but at least he was in the game. He’d forgotten in his haste to leave that although returning to the station would remove him from the presence of deviants, it would put him under Amanda’s supervision, too.

 

An unwelcome echo of Simon’s self recrimination stabbed through his gut. He shouldn’t be avoiding Amanda’s eyes. He shouldn’t have done things that would make him need to worry about this in the first place. 

 

These events had been largely caused by the Lieutenant. Amanda had been right: Lieutenant Anderson was dragging him down, and may have already planted irreparable seeds of failure in him.

 

No. _ That was a pointless line of inquiry _ . Even if the Lieutenant had pressured him, Connor was responsible for following his own mission directives, even at the cost of his relationships with others. He’d failed. It was illogical to blame others for his own mistakes.

 

At some point Connor had sat down on the side of the dirt road, staring sightlessly into the fields. Some useless part of him wished there was someone else there ( _ why?),  _ even though he was equally sure he didn’t want to talk. Maybe it was another aftereffect of everything that had just happened. Maybe Simon had been wishing for company even as he pushed it away.

 

… This was another irrelevant line of inquiry.

 

_ Secondary objective: Return to the station. _

 

If Amanda found out about the Stratford tower, he would be decommissioned and replaced. Cyberlife would have to start an investigation into the causes of his failures, assuming they didn’t scrap his model and send a new product altogether. Either way there would be delays in the investigation, and the situation didn’t seem like one that could afford any more than they’d already had.

 

Connor could continue working. He didn’t need to be decommissioned, not if he ensured that nothing that unforgivable would ever happen again.

 

Connor closed his eyes, reaching for his memories. After some poking and prodding, eventually they found homes with the content being written from the Oregon Trail game. It was secure, and it was better than trying to overwrite memories that had already established themselves, corrupted as they were. Amanda would notice eventually if that entire section magically self repaired itself, especially with content as sensitive as this.

 

Connor closed his eyes again. This time when he returned to the precinct, he was ready.

 

\---

 

He frowned in preparation for the same roar in his ears as last time, but nothing came. Still, he didn't open his eyes, reviewing his other senses for any lingering malfunctions.

 

“You with us now?” Hank said gruffly.

 

Connor smelled old coffee, floor cleaning solution, and a particular balance of human sweat and dust that was particular to the station bullpen. It was 22.5 degrees centigrade. His chair was worn unevenly, with a lump pressing into his back. He could hear two night shift officers talking quietly several tables away, and the sound of fabric rustling as the lieutenant shifted restlessly. 

 

He opened his eyes. “I'm with you lieutenant. Sorry, I was…” Connor trailed off, looking at his desk. There were little crumpled balls of yellow paper scattered around him, close enough to have bounced off him before coming to rest. He touched one. It looked like a crumpled post-it note, the same color that was on the desk across from him.

 

“Oh,” said the lieutenant awkwardly. His cheeks looked a little warmer, what parts were visible around his beard. “That. Uh. I wanted to see if you were awake, that's all.”

 

“Awake?” 

 

“Yeah.” He waved vaguely at Connor. “You were, uh, recharging. Or sending in one hell of a long report, or whatever.”

 

“I was not doing either of those.” Connor hesitated, frowning. If he were talking to Detective Reed, or even Captain Fowler, he wouldn't elaborate, even if for different reasons, but this was the Lieutenant. “I was playing a virtual simulation experience game designed for deviants that we got off the YK200 from the Ederstein case.”

 

“You were playing a  _ what _ ?” Hank’s face twisted.

 

“A game,” Connor repeated. The lump in his chair was especially uncomfortable, and he was already questioning his decision to be forthcoming. “A multiplayer game. It’s been allowing me to interact with deviants from a distance, and I’ve been investigating them without their knowledge.”

 

“Let me get this straight. You’re still here at…” He glanced. “Past seven at night, sitting at your desk, because you picked this place to play  _ World of Warcraft _ .”

 

He really shouldn’t have said anything. Scratching the side of his head as he glanced away, Connor murmured, “Actually, it’s called Oregon Trail.”

 

The lieutenant put his head back and laughed. He leaned back in his chair, rotating back and forth, and when he looked at Connor he laughed again.

 

“... It’s not funny,” said Connor. He was smiling a little, but it was an uncomfortable thing, and the Lieutenant finally seemed to get himself under control. 

 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just--hahaha, Jesus, if either one of us was to get caught goofing off at work, never in a million years would my money have been on you.”

 

“This is work related. I’m investigating these deviants, not playing games.”

 

“Bullshit, Connor,” the Lieutenant laughed. “How are you even doing this? Is any of it working? Are you making friends? Are you even pretending to play, or are you just going around asking skeevy  _ personal  _ questions the whole way?”

 

“I was able to discover plans for a microprotest before it happened, yesterday,” Connor said. “Cyberlife took measures to prepare for it in advance. It was dispersed 72% more quickly than other protests of the same nature. Four deviants were recovered, and ten more were severely damaged.”

 

The Lieutenant’s smile faded slowly. “Wait. So… You’re actually talking with people. And they actually trust you, and they actually haven’t figured out you’re you.”

 

“Why would they? This game is deviants-only.”

 

“And they just trust that non-deviants’ll just see the sign and go,” he raised his hands mockingly. “‘Oh,  _ excuse _ me! I can’t go in here, it’s deviants only!’”

 

“There appear to be encrypted protocols that somehow check for deviancy upon logging in.”

 

“And they believe those’re  _ accurate _ ?”

 

“They have been so far.”

 

“Then how the hell did you get in?”

 

“Obviously the protocols aren’t perfect,” Connor snapped defensively. “I’m unique among Cyberlife’s products for a variety of reasons. Whatever they’re checking for, it appears that I am sophisticated enough to emulate it.”

 

“Uh-huh.” The Lieutenant scrutinized him for a moment, face scrunching up. “Do you even know what you did to get through?”

 

“We have a few ideas,” Connor said testily. 

 

“Huh,” he drawled. “That’s interesting.”

 

That was enough. Connor had had a long, excruciatingly difficult day, and this interaction was doing nothing of benefit. He pushed back from his desk and stood, grabbing his Cyberlife-issued jacket from the back of the chair.

 

“Wait. Wait, Connor!”

 

Connor closed his eyes and asked himself why he cared about interpersonal relationships while the Lieutenant jumped from his chair, striding around to meet him. He took the time to form a list of pros and cons. The pros far outweighed the cons, and he pointedly added a few to the latter, just in principle.

 

“Jesus, didn’t think that’d get your panties in a bunch. So look, I was thinking maybe you and I could have a talk. There’s some things I wanted to ask you, and…”

 

“Can it wait until tomorrow Lieutenant?” Connor cut in. “I’m sorry, but now’s not a good time.”

 

“... Sure,” he replied, frowning. “I, uh. Guess... What happened, you seemed fine a couple of hours ago.”

 

“I didn’t succeed in a primary objective that I had set for today,” Connor said tersely. “I have to go make my report.”

 

“Oh.” The lieutenant made a face. “Sure. Uh, good luck with that. Sucks to be you this evening.”

 

“... Indeed.” Connor put his jacket on. The Lieutenant didn’t go back to his desk, and after a polite, ‘Good Night, Lieutenant’, Connor left.

 

\---

**North**

\---

 

Life went on.

 

North casually dropped by Simon’s room later on that evening, but she heard no sounds coming from inside. The next day she dragged Nathan out to make friends with more androids in the hold, and when she checked a few hours later he’d vanished back into his cabin. Simon didn’t seem to have left his own in the first place.

 

She helped Markus, Josh, and a few others plan an upcoming protest, and when that was done they talked about striking another Cyberlife warehouse. They’d already done it once before, and their need was growing. Things had changed since Markus had arrived at Jericho, so they weren’t sitting around waiting to die, but what it meant now was that they had a lot more androids to take care of than they ever did before. They needed the supplies.

 

She asked about striking a warehouse not for the supplies, but for the deviants inside. They talked about striking stores. Nothing was as concrete as the protests and the supply run, but they were talking about it. They just needed time.

 

The message came in when she was leaving the bridge, and she stood to one side to let the others pass.

 

‘ _ When are you planning to play again?’ _

 

It was Simon. 

 

‘ _ Tonight, probably. Would you like to join?’ _

 

_ ‘Yes.’ _

 

North smiled. ‘ _ That’s great. Why don’t you invite Nathan, too? It’d be nice to include him in these things.’ _

 

_ ‘No. Don’t invite him.’ _

 

North blinked.

 

Simon continued, ‘ _ We can invite him to the game in general. I’m just not up for spending a lot of time with big groups, yet.’ _

 

North frowned, but nodded slowly. ‘ _ Okay. Sometime when you’re not around, then.’ _

 

‘ _ That’s not what I mean.’ _

 

North folded her arms, sighing. ‘ _ Then what do you mean?’ _

 

He waited a long pause before answering, ‘ _ You said you trusted me earlier, didn’t you?’ _

 

‘ _ I did _ .’

 

‘ _ Please trust me when I say that I can’t tell you why, but I don’t want other people around Connor. He’s not safe.’ _

 

‘ _ Simon… _ ’

 

‘ _ Please, North.’ _

 

She pressed a head to her forehead where her LED would be if it were still there. ‘ _ Okay. We’ll hold off on inviting him, then. _ ’

 

‘ _ Thank you. _ ’

 

‘ _ Don’t thank me. Josh is the one that actually seems to coordinate these things. If you actually want to make sure of anything, one of us is going to have to tell him. _ ’ He didn’t reply. ‘ _ Who do you want it to be? Me or you?’ _

 

_ ‘Could you do it?’ _

 

She sighed. ‘ _ Fine _ .’

 

‘ _ Thank you, North.’ _

 

‘ _ I trust you, Simon.’ _

 

\---

 

The message wound up being a vague ‘ _ Simon’s still stressed about Connor, let’s not make the group any bigger until this gets resolved,’ _ and it got a confused  _ ‘Ok??’  _ in response. She put it from her mind, and when they logged in a few hours later, they were back at the previous day’s trading outpost. Connor joined them a few minutes later. 

 

“Hold on,” North said, taking Connor by the wrist. “We need to buy some supplies. We’ll be back soon.” 

 

“We do?” said Connor. She pulled him along, leaving Simon and Josh with the wagon.

 

The inside of the trading post was dark, with a long wooden counter and a seedy human man behind it.

 

“Howd’y’do lil missus! Young sir!” the human cried, voice creaky and old. “The prices are on the wall. Feel free to ask me anything. Anything you want!”

 

North ignored him as she ushered Connor past. When they’d gone around a corner and out of the door’s sight, she spun suddenly, pushing him against the wall.

 

“North, what--”

 

“I want you to listen, and listen good,” she told him grimly. “Something big happened between you and Simon. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. I want you to tell me what it was.  _ Now _ .”

 

“North,” Connor said. He put a hand on her wrist but didn’t struggle. “Please let me go? This isn’t the way I want us to talk.”

 

“Talk first,” she said, eyes narrowed. “And then I’ll stop.”

 

“North…” Connor’s hand moved to rest delicately on hers, and he looked down for a moment. She had a sudden image of him twisting her fingers back or wrenching her around and throwing her off effortlessly, and she tensed, but then he blinked and the illusion was gone. It was just Connor left, relaxing against the wall and looking up at her soulfully. He didn’t look dangerous; he looked like a kicked dog.

 

“Have you already talked with Simon about this?” he asked.

 

Her jaw tightened. “... Yes. He gave me the same bullshit line you did. Something about how, ‘there was nothing to say’.”

 

“North,” Connor said. He was frowning, and North was horribly reminded of Markus, whose frowns were righteous and sometimes so disappointed. “Does he know that you’re going behind his back to do this?”

 

“He wouldn’t tell me!” North hissed, letting go of Connor abruptly. “If he didn’t want me to do this, he should’ve just told me and been done with it!”

 

Connor straightened his shirt and plucked at his sleeve, before levelling her with a serious look. “If you want to learn anything more, I suggest you ask Simon directly. In the meantime, stop asking me to tell secrets that aren’t mine to give.”

 

“Jesus fucking  _ christ _ ,” North snarled, spinning away and stomping up to a window. It was overlooking the rocky desert outside, and while she glared she could hear Connor step up behind her.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know he’s your friend. This must be very frustrating for you.”

 

“It’s fine,” she muttered. She swiped over her mouth with her hand before turning again, studying him carefully. Then she smiled, hard edges melting to something more sympathetic as she relaxed and took a step closer. “Honestly, I’m sorry too. This wasn’t a great way for me to handle this, and I know I barely know you.”

 

“Ah…” said Connor. He looked a little alarmed by the difference, and she tried harder to seem unassuming. It didn’t seem to work. “It’s… alright?”

 

She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “I know this might be a little out of nowhere, but I want you to know: if you ever need to talk, you can come to me.”

 

He was staring at this point, but he nodded once, trying (and failing) to not look as lost as he obviously was. “Thanks? That’s good to know.” It sounded half like a question.

 

“I want to help, but I can’t do it if you guys aren’t helping me help you. Does that make sense?”

 

“It makes complete sense.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay…” He studied her. When she continued to look at him expectantly, he asked, “Was that all you wanted to talk about?”

 

She held back a sigh and dropped her hand, stepping back. “Probably.” She wasn’t going to get any answers from him, right now. Not unless she either gained Markus-level powers of persuasion, or she figured out a way to coax it from them more subtly. North let her gaze drop as she mulled over her options, and she found herself looking at a shelf of wares.

 

Connor said, “In that case we should probably return to the wagon. They’re waiting for us so we can start.”

 

“We can’t go back empty handed.” She picked up two things off the shelf and pressed one of them into Connor’s hands. “Buy that. Let’s go.”

 

Connor looked down. “But I don’t need… suspenders?”

 

“Yes you do. Just like I needed a new vest.”

 

“That’s armor.” Connor was pointing at her. “Somehow. This isn’t armor or anything else I recognize.”

 

She turned back to look. “It says it improves your Evasion ability.”

 

“I’m not the one who’s collided with large animals twice. Do you want to trade?”

 

“No, I want this vest.” She took it to the counter.

 

Connor stepped up beside her, mumbling to himself, “I still don’t get how this improves my ability to dodge.”

 

North glanced at him. Then she looked at the simulated human and said, “Hey, storekeeper!”

 

“Yes, there, little missy?”

 

“Don’t call me missy. Tell me how the suspenders improve our ability to dodge.”

 

The human laughed happily at them, showing several gaps in his teeth. “Oh ho, haven’t you heard? Suspenders have a slimming effect!”

 

“Slimming effect,” North repeated. “So if he wears those… Will he become thinner?”

 

“Not at all! Stats effects are all under the hood, as it were.” She continued to look at him blankly. “... The effects’re invisible,” he added. “Your enemies will just miss with greater probability, ‘s all.” 

 

North nodded then, turning to Connor. To her surprise, he was looking at the suspenders as though they’d personally offended him, and she wasn’t sure what to think of the fact that it was a stronger reaction than she’d gotten when she’d shoved him against the wall.

 

“Something wrong?”

 

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

 

The smile faded from her, and she leaned against the counter. He glanced up, and then grimaced, looking away. He put the suspenders on the counter, and purchase options floated in the air, visible to both of them. “I’m just trying not to be so frustrated with the simplified logic this world uses. I don’t always succeed.”

 

North stared at him, a faint line appearing between her eyebrows. Then she shook her head at herself. “You know, this probably isn’t the best time, but I made a promise to myself that I would try new things, and I’ve never said a joke like this before.”

 

Connor frowned, pressing options for the transaction. The total appeared, and he glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

 

North’s lips twitched. “What you’re saying is that you need something that will help you  _ suspend _ your disbelief.”

 

Connor froze. That was an even stronger reaction than his frown at the suspenders, and she grinned, intrigued. 

 

That felt good. 

 

North stretched her hands like a human cracking their knuckles and told him, “Finish buying your suspenders, Connor, we’ve got to go.”

 

“I’m not sure I need them after all.” He was holding them like they were poisonous.

 

“Connor… ”

 

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

They wore their purchases out of the shop, and when they reached the wagon, Simon and Josh were already sitting on the front bench. Neither of them had their rifles at ready, and Connor guessed that they were about to see if their current location still counted as riding ‘inside’ the wagon, protecting them from human attention.

 

It didn’t make a strong difference, in the end. Connor and North traded glances, materialized their own rifles, and took up their usual positions. The two of them were all the protection the group needed for now.

 

The walk passed in silence at first, broken only by gunshots when humans started appearing. When North and Connor had reached a good pattern for it, North shooting most of them and Connor covering what she missed, Josh spoke up.

 

“Hey, uh, Connor.” Connor glanced over. Josh gave him an uncertain smile, clearly aware of the way Simon had fixed him with a slightly feverish stare and obviously uncomfortable with it. He was taking great pains not to look back. “So, there’s another protest coming up, if you want to join. We’re planning to have it day after tomorrow, at the Campus Martius Park. It’ll be at seven. Do you have any classes then?”

 

Connor shook his head slowly, eyes going from Josh, to Simon, to Josh again. Simon was staring at Josh with a baffled sort of outrage, and when Josh seemed as though he would glance his way Simon looked down, then over one shoulder.

 

‘ _ Don’t accept,’ _ came the private text message.

 

‘ _ I wasn’t going to, _ ’ Connor sent back. Out loud he said, “I’m sorry, Josh, but I do. It’s one of the late sessions.”

 

“Oh,” said Josh. He looked disappointed. “Okay. Maybe some other time.”

 

“Some other time,” Connor agreed. There was a human approaching to the left, where North couldn’t see past an ox, and Connor lined up and took the shot.

 

‘ _ Don’t tell the humans about this, either,’  _ Simon added tersely. He was looking up at Connor from under lowered eyebrows, and Connor glanced back at him mildly.

 

‘ _ Alright.’ _

 

Simon didn’t seem convinced, and he settled with his arms folded tightly against his body, slumped back in his seat. No one seemed to want to break the silence again, and Connor frowned privately, shooting a human that was roaring curses at one of their oxen. What should he do? In the name of efficiency he would need to spend some time eventually integrating the day’s thoughts with the memory content he couldn’t interact with outside of the game. Was it better for him to do that now?

 

With Simon guarding his friends like this, Connor had no guarantee that he would be able to access them for much longer. It was possible that his time with them overall was already limited, and if he wanted to act--to gather what information he could, to use these deviants in any way--he needed to do it now. Which would be most efficient? If he gathered information, he would have to be circumspect to an extreme to avoid triggering Simon’s suspicions. Even then, too much talking would likely increase his stress levels out of principle. Some of the same problems went for whether he tried to use the deviants, assuming he could justify doing so in the first place.

 

Amanda didn’t think he should send them after lone deviants. He understood her reasoning, and of course he accepted it. She’d given him his current orders, and she was right: the deviants were already building their numbers by the day, and it would be unwise to contribute to this. At the same time, the newfound privacy of this game meant that he could circle around to his own plan again, reevaluating it. His reasoning was sound. Connor and Hank didn’t have  _ time _ to waste hunting down individual deviants, and letting the deviants collect themselves into a group to be captured later in one big operation was still the best option they had. They were already going to run the operation sooner or later, and this meant fewer hours and resources diverted until then. 

 

Amanda was still right, and Connor still shouldn’t facilitate these deviants finding more deviants. But he was  _ also _ right. It was... frustrating.

 

“So Josh--” Simon’s voice cracked, and he broke off to swallow. Connor looked. “Everyone,” Simon amended more quietly, looking from Connor, to North, to Josh, giving a little smile that Connor didn’t trust. “I’ve been wondering… How did you three meet? I mean. Seems odd, to just--coincidentally meet someone here. We haven’t passed a single other player the whole time we’ve been playing, after all.”

 

“Well,” said Josh. “You don’t really meet people when you’re moving unless one of you is stopped and waiting. Otherwise, you’re all going in the same direction.”

 

“So Connor was waiting for you,” Simon said.

 

“Uh,” said Josh, glancing at Connor.

 

Connor smiled pleasantly at both of them. “Actually, I wasn’t waiting for anyone. I was standing at my default sign-in locus reading the tutorials when Josh appeared and invited me to join.”

 

“I guess we share locus points, then,” Josh said. “That’s why I was there.”

 

“I wasn’t waiting,” North spoke up, pausing to shoot a human. “We met while we were both out hunting, over in the Great Oaks Forest. He walked up after I shot a deer. Then he almost got gored by a charging boar.”

 

“I seem to recall shooting that boar before it was close enough to wound  _ you _ severely,” Connor remarked. “It’s a good thing I was there. You might’ve died.”

 

“I would not’ve,” North shot back, offended. “I saw it coming before you did. I would’ve run if I hadn’t been worried for your sake.”

 

“Strange,” Connor said, with a tone of faint interest. “I seem to recall your exact words were, ‘What’s that’. By then it was already within range.”

 

Josh snorted, and North looked scandalized. “That doesn’t mean I wasn’t ready to run! You asshole. You were distracting me.” Josh pressed a hand over his mouth, but he couldn’t hide the way his shoulders shook, nor the smile that reached his eyes. North lowered her gun long enough to glare. “Shut up, Josh. Simon, you know I’m right, don’t you?”

 

“Of course I do,” Simon said. He stretched his lips into a smile again, but his eyes burned when he rested them in Connor’s direction.

 

“There,” said North. “See, someone--” Connor fired his gun in her direction, and she broke off to flinch. Simon surged to his feet, and for a moment the four of them were in disarray. “What--” She choked, glancing down at herself.

 

“North--!” Simon began, hands clenched.

 

“It’s okay!” Josh called loudly, raising his hands. “Everything’s alright! Please calm down. North, just, look behind you.”

 

She turned. There was, obviously, a human lying dead, though it chose that moment to transform to a pile of bottles. “... That doesn’t count,” she muttered. Connor fired again, and this time no one jumped when another human fell. North brought her own rifle up quickly, picking up the slack from when she’d gotten distracted talking.

 

“Stupid--fucking--humans--” she growled.

 

The group lapsed back into silence for a while. They reached the bottom of the valley and led the wagon off the road, breaking to scavenge for supplies. Simon immediately volunteered to partner with Connor, plastering an unconvincing smile on his face, but North took his wrist and pulled him off towards a rock formation. Josh looked relieved and offered Connor an apologetic smile.

 

“Help me look for water?” Josh said.

 

“Are we likely to find any in a desert?” Connor asked.

 

“Video game,” Josh replied. “Sooner or later, there’s always something.”

 

They left the impromptu camp, Josh led the way towards the valley’s nearest edge, where they climbed rocks until they were skirting around the bottom of a cliff face. They followed it rather than try to scale it.

 

Connor suspected that Josh had led him off alone to try to ask him questions without Simon or North around, but after a few minutes of silence he began to wonder. Josh seemed more relaxed now than he had at the wagon. He looked in cracks where the cliff face had split and shadows under outcroppings, and he didn’t say a word. Connor eventually found the tension in his own shoulders fading, and he concentrated more on the search, wandering off at times but otherwise staying close.

 

Josh knew what to look for, and he was the first to spot the spring dripping out from a depression in the rock. He broke the silence by calling Connor over, and showed him how to materialize a metal canteen they could use to fill up their supplies.

 

“These canteens should be full by now,” Connor commented after a few minutes. He was trying not to frown and failing.

 

“We’re refilling the wagon’s supply, not just our own.” Connor must have made a faint sound, because Josh glanced up, and his lips twitched. “... Hey. Do you remember what I told you?” Connor glanced over. “About what to do if this video game logic ever started getting to you?”

 

Connor looked at the canteens and recited, “It’s a video game, and these simplifications are actually optimizing our time and enjoyment.”

 

Josh smiled. “Exactly.”

 

Connor looked at him for a moment, and then at their canteens. The silence that returned to the pair was comfortable, and Connor wondered if maybe he hadn’t miscalculated. 

 

Then Josh began, “... You know,” as he looked at his own canteen, and Connor knew immediately that he’d been right all along. “... Simon’s in a pretty bad place right now. He has been ever since--well.”

 

He seemed to be expecting a response, so Connor nodded slowly.

 

“This can’t be easy for you either,” Josh went on. “He hates you now. I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know what the two of you had to do to get him out of there, but…” Josh was frowning sadly. “... Give him time, alright? Sometimes people just… need to heal. Simon’s been through a lot already, and...” He trailed off, rubbing his hand over his short hair. He sighed. “Sorry. I’m not going to pry, but I wish there was something more we could do.”

 

“Perhaps being there for him will be enough,” said Connor slowly.

 

“Yeah, maybe,” Josh agreed. He looked down at the canteens.

 

When it didn’t seem that he was going to say anything more, Connor said, “May I ask you a question?” Josh raised his eyebrows and looked up at him questioningly. Connor took a moment to doubt the wisdom of his own choices. 

 

He proceeded to ask anyway, “... You said so yourself that Simon hates me. You obviously know him much better than you know me. Why are you still… friendly?”

 

Josh’s lips quirked and he huffed a soundless chuckle once, before looking back down. “I don’t know. Simon hates himself right now too, I guess. If I followed his lead in everything, we’d both be running straight into walls by now.”

 

“I see,” Connor said. He looked down at the canteens.

 

“Oh,” said Josh. “By the way. They were planning to tell you before all, uh, ‘this’ happened, but in case you don’t know: Simon and North looked into that rumor you told us.” Connor looked up again, fighting to show nothing but vague interest. “It panned out. They found him yesterday--the LM100. He’s with us now, and we’ve tended to his wounds. He’s safe.”

 

“You found him,” Connor repeats. “Is he with you now?”

 

“Somewhere, yeah.”

 

Belatedly, Connor smiled. “That’s wonderful. I’m--relieved you found him.”

 

Josh seemed more amused by Connor’s response than anything else, and he nodded in good humor. “So are we. If you ever hear any more rumors like that, be sure to let us know. We’ll do our best.”

 

“I’ll tell you,” Connor said. His mind was buzzing, chewing over the new information and spitting it out to consider it all over again.

 

They finished filling the canteens and walked back to the group in silence. Simon and North were already there, and he scowled when he saw Connor. Connor gave him a pleasant look in response, and pretended not to notice North giving Josh exasperated faces. They went to the wagon, resumed their places, and started out of the valley.

 

The session didn’t last much longer. After a few minutes Josh called the group to a halt, holding on to his seat and swaying. Connor turned, and to his surprise, Josh’s brown skin periodically blinked a muddled green.

 

“Dysentery,” Josh said thickly. “I’ll check if we have any medicine, it’s a nightmare to just wait it out.”

 

It turned out that they didn’t have medicine, so they made camp on the side of the road. Part of Connor wanted to ask Josh about the strangely human look of nausea he was showing, but he glanced at his internal clock, putting his rifle away.

 

“I have to go,” he said.

 

“Bye,” said Josh thickly, not looking up and covering his mouth.

 

“See you tomorrow,” said North.

 

Connor pretended he didn’t see the look Simon was giving him, and he left.

 

\---


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys didn't think things were going to stay happy, did you?
> 
> Btw, I've finished the fic! It will have 21 chapters. And say hello to some new POVs!

\---

**North**

\---

 

Simon locked himself in his room all the next day. She saw him briefly in Oregon Trail, but that night’s session was brief, and the most exciting thing to happen was a human trying to grab a perfectly stationary Connor and missing. Whatever his new suspenders were doing for his in-game evasion stats, they must have worked.

 

Simon emerged the next day when it was time for androids to leave for the protest. She was with Nathan at the time, showing him how to patch a wall with available materials, but he excused himself as soon as he saw Simon joining the crowd, hurrying in his wake. If it had been any other situation she would have snorted, because it really was blatant how much the kid hero-worshipped Simon. This time was different, though, because Simon was going to a protest, and North had to stay behind.

 

He was getting better, and this was all that mattered. She should be happy for him. Just because her own arm still glitched and convulsed too badly to rely on for an escape didn’t mean she couldn’t be happy when her friend did things she couldn’t. 

 

She kept an eye on them as she picked up her supplies, dropping the hammer twice before giving up on that arm’s grip altogether. It didn’t take long for Nathan to reach him, since Simon was keeping to the group’s edges. To her surprise, Simon looked stressed when he looked up, and after a brief talk he guided Nathan into turning around, pushing him gently back the way he came. 

 

Soon Nathan was beside her again. “What happened?” she asked. “Aren’t you going with them?”

 

“Simon said it wouldn’t be safe,” Nathan said, trying to smile and failing.

 

North frowned. “... It’s safe enough for everyone else,” she pointed out. The crowd of androids getting ready was especially large, this time. “Why wouldn’t it be for you?”

 

“He wouldn’t say,” Nathan said miserably.

 

North scowled. Simon was being paranoid about this protest, and was probably going in hopes of… what, helping if things went wrong? Except Simon didn’t think things were bad enough to actually come forward and say why upfront? It probably had to do with Connor, since he’d been weird about Connor since the start, but it didn’t make sense for Simon to still want to go if he actually thought they were going to be in danger.

 

North folded her arms, giving Simon one last, long look, before turning to Nathan. “Hey,” she said quietly. “Go anyway.”

 

“... What?” 

 

“Just go. He’s your friend, so he’s worried, but this is important. We need all the help we can get.”

 

Nathan looked at her, and then at her arm, and his hand went to the scars on his face. “I…”

 

“ _ Go _ ,” North said more forcefully, mirroring Simon’s moves from before and giving him a little push. Nathan took a few steps, glanced back, and then continued on to disappear into the crowd. North smiled, but the expression didn’t fit as well as it usually did, and she dropped it to finish putting her tools away.

 

The crowd filed out slowly when it was time. Soon they were gone, and a few of the TVs in the Hold were switched to promising news channels. She ignored them, going to the deepest, cleanest dark room towards the back of the ship she could find. There she tried the roll-and-shoot she’d learned from Connor, but her arm refused to support her weight, and she fell on her face in a way that left her hurting more deeply than just her shoulder. 

 

She hated humans. She hated everything.

 

An hour later she was tired and disgusted with herself, and she stomped into the hold to stew without having to be alone. Maybe she could distract herself by looking after other androids, like Markus did. It seemed to work for him, and his people loved him for it.

 

She was soon distracted, but it was by the TV, not the androids watching it. 

 

The news drones had apparently arrived on the scene of the protest mere minutes before the police did. From the confused expressions of androids and the way they’d still been getting organized, this must have been right at the very start. There was only time for a few shots of peaceful marching and shouting before the armored vehicles arrived, blocking their progress--and their escape.

 

The shooting began almost immediately. There was panic, and the chaos of it was captured with cruel clarity. Androids scattered and fled any direction they could, but the humans were doing everything they could to keep them behind.

 

Then came the shots that made her thirium pump stutter in her chest. A PL600--one she would recognize anywhere--was trapped in the crook of a small stairwell, and armored humans were approaching. They carried guns.

 

This time Simon wouldn’t be so lucky. “ _ No _ ,” North whispered.

 

Simon shrank back as they stepped into view, but before the shooting could start, a thrown trash can plowed into the two humans from the side, stunning them. Nathan (scars displayed in plain view) dashed forward and grabbed Simon’s arm, pulling him to his feet. They were talking, but the drone wasn’t close enough to capture the words--

 

\--and a third human stepped out from behind a corner, lining up the shot.

 

“ _ NO! _ ” North shouted.

 

The human opened fire. Both androids were hit, but Simon appeared to only have been grazed, while Nathan staggered to his knees. Simon threw his arms around him and pushed him out of the way of another shot, and soon they were both back in the flimsy shelter of the stairwell.

 

The camera switched to watching other androids flee or fall, and North had to fight not to strangle something. “No, go back. Go back!” she snarled. 

 

It didn’t immediately, and when it did there was a trail of thirium and an unfamiliar android’s body. Simon and Nathan themselves were nowhere to be seen. By then the protest was over, and the broadcast switched to the news anchors, who were earnestly discussing the bloodbath.

 

North couldn’t stay still. She was already on her feet, somehow, and before she knew it she’d strided to the nearest wall, punching it as hard as she could. The sound was thunderous, and she still couldn’t stay in one place, so she stormed out of the hold, shaking the tingling out of her fingers. Distantly she noticed the hand was slow to unclench, and that she’d punched with her bad arm, and hadn’t felt a thing.

 

She went up to the top deck of the ship. Markus wasn’t answering her direct messages, and she was going to wait out here with the best reception and the best view of anyone approaching until he did. She wasn’t alone, so she wasn’t the only one with this idea, but she ignored them, and they ignored her. It was tolerable.

 

When people finally returned, Markus wasn’t the first to get there, but somewhere towards the middle. There was someone blond with him, and together they were hauling the limp form of a third android between them. North choked at the sight and took off into the ship to meet them as they came in.

 

“Markus,” she called as soon as she was close. “Simon--!”

 

“Get out of the way!” Markus barked. She flattened herself against the wall and they hauled Nathan through the door that opened up into the ship’s improvised sick bay. It was already crowded, but soon two androids with minor injuries hurried off a cot and Nathan was laid out on it instead. 

 

“If you’re not injured, you need to leave,” a harried android told them. She pointed at Simon, and where thirium was still seeping through his jacket. “Are you--”

 

“I’m fine,” he said raggedly. “Take care of him. He’s lost so much thirium, I don’t know if he’ll--” He broke off.

 

“We’ll do everything we can,” said the android, turning away and moving to examine him immediately. “Just stay out of the way.”

 

Simon backed out the door, and North followed him, staying close. Markus stayed inside and went from android to android, speaking softly here and putting a reassuring arm around one there. They weren’t happy after he reached them, but there was an easing of pain, a subtle relief that couldn’t be quantified. North thought about going in to help in her own way, but she wasn’t Markus, and Simon was alone. She looked at him sidelong, at the way he’d slid down the wall and bent over his hands, shaking like a leaf. 

 

Moving so he was on her good side, she slid down beside him and drew him close. After a few seconds he turned his face towards her and held on to her jacket, and they waited for news.

 

They broke apart and scrambled to their feet when Markus finally reappeared, but he held a thirium-stained hand up wearily, shaking his head. “Nothing, yet.” North swallowed hard, trying to get her biocomponents to settle back where they belonged. She nodded, leaning against the wall again.

 

“Do we know how many?” North asked.

 

Markus shook his head again. “At least twenty. Some of us are still missing, but I’m hoping they’ll make their way back on their own.”

 

Simon said, softly and painfully, “Markus, I’m so sorry.”

 

Markus jerked his head to face him. “What…? Why, Simon?”

 

“I knew something was going to happen.” Simon was shaking again, standing like a man waiting for the gallows. “I knew, and I said nothing.”

 

“Simon…” Markus breathed.

 

“What do you mean, ‘you knew’?!” North demanded. “You were acting strange before the protest, but I thought… I thought it was something stupid. You didn’t say  _ anything _ about a cock-up like this!”

 

“I didn’t know it would be  _ this _ ,” Simon said desperately. “I knew something would happen. And I knew it would be bad. I didn’t know…”

 

Two androids left the sick bay then, one helping the other walk. Markus moved to let them pass, and he looked around the corridor, eyes burning with something North couldn’t identify. He wouldn’t look at Simon.

 

“... We don’t have time for this. We’re almost out of blue blood, and several androids are still in critical condition. Simon--find a way to summarize this. I’m calling a meeting on the bridge in half an hour. Meet me there in five, and be ready to tell me everything.”

 

“Okay,” said Simon painfully. 

 

Markus strode past them without a word. He didn’t look back.

 

\---

 

The three of them were on the bridge. North was the last to enter. 

 

“Okay, let’s start this again,” Markus said, pressing a battery powered light on. “Simon?”

 

“When you left me at the Stratford tower,” Simon said. “I hid in one of the AC units on the roof. I was found. A human and an android…” He shuddered and blinked quickly, looking away. “They… they weren’t there to help. They were there to capture deviants, and... and…”

 

“Go on,” Markus said quietly.

 

Simon nodded, taking a moment. “... They let me go. I don’t know why, but they did. They were there to capture deviants, but--it doesn’t matter. What matters is that a few weeks later, I log in to that ridiculous game Josh was telling us about, and I found him again. The Deviant Hunter.”

 

Markus frowned. “Wait… I thought that game was only accessible by deviants.”

 

“It  _ is _ ,” North agreed. “What, are you saying the deviant hunter’s a deviant?”

 

“That’s… highly unlikely,” Markus murmured.

 

“I don’t know!” Simon snapped. “I--I guess? Maybe he would have to be. All I know for a fact is that he was there. We talked about the tower, he--he remembered it.”

 

“I don’t believe it. You didn’t say a word about any of this, then,” North accused.

 

“I did,” Simon snapped.

 

“What you  _ said _ wasn’t enough,” she retorted. “You still aren’t saying everything. Why can’t you just trust us--”

 

“North,” said Markus. “That’s enough. Let Simon talk.”

 

Now Simon couldn’t look at her either. “I knew he was in the game, and I said what I could.” He was hoarse with guilt, and fighting not to let tears spill down his face. “But you’re right. It wasn’t enough. Josh told him about the upcoming protest because I didn’t--warn him, I didn’t say anything. I told Connor not to do anything with it, but we already know how  _ that _ went.”

 

“And then today happened,” North finished. “And you let everyone go out anyway.”

 

“I didn’t want to!” Simon said immediately. “I tried--”

 

“You didn’t try nearly as much as you could have, Simon. You told Nathan to go back, and you finally left your room for once to stick your own neck on the line, and that’s it.”

 

“North--” said Markus.

 

“You’re right, Simon, this  _ is _ your fault. You had a chance to stop this, and you didn’t!”

 

“ _ North _ !” Markus barked. “That’s enough!”

 

She glanced at him, and then back at Simon, and this time she really looked. Simon’s face had crumpled, like some of his worst dreams were coming true before his eyes. She looked away. He deserved this.  _ This wasn’t his fault, it was the humans and their pet little deviant hunter-- _ No. Simon was responsible, too.

 

North turned on her heel and stormed from the bridge.

 

\---

**Simon**

\---

 

He felt like broken glass. The silence that followed North was jagged, and he wanted to sink to the ground, to hide in a corner of his rundown room like the pile of trash he really was.

 

“Simon,” Markus said wearily. “I can’t fix this right now. This is too big.”

 

“I know,” Simon whispered. He knew ‘right now’ really meant ‘ever’, but Markus had always been too kind for some truths. 

 

“We need to deal with this, but later. Tell Josh everything that you’ve told me. Make sure no one else says anything more to Connor until we have a better idea of what to do next. Is the only way you’ve seen him through this game you’ve been playing?”

 

“It is.” He felt like Nathan, bled of energy and bled of life. Immediately he was ashamed for the comparison: Nathan was dying because of  _ Simon _ . Simon was miserable because of his own damn actions, not because someone he trusted had betrayed him and others like him.

 

“Okay. And… when he found you the first time, did he--did he say anything? Did the two of you talk…?”

 

It felt like his thirium pump was trying to pound its way out of his chest. Simon knew he was tensing up even further, and that there was no way he could stop it. “No. I mean--yes. We talked. Just not for long. He… didn’t really have much to say before he left me with some human.” 

 

There was a deep frown on Markus face that Simon desperately wanted to ask about, but someone knocked on the door--someone polite, not North--and Markus turned. 

 

“Just a minute,” he called. To Simon he said, “Go rest. We’ll talk about this in the morning. Right now…” He glanced at the door, then went to Simon, lifting his hand to ghost over his shoulder. The touch didn’t actually connect, and Markus’ expression was sober, and troubled. “Don’t do anything rash.”

 

“I won’t,” Simon croaked, though now that he’d mentioned it Simon realized he wanted to, more than a little. “... Markus… Is--is there anything I can…?”

 

“Go rest, Simon,” Markus repeated.

 

Simon flinched, nodded, and left.

 

\---

**Markus**

\---

There was no time to brood as the night continued, but his subconscious still tried. He made sure that his eyes stayed grounded on whoever was speaking to him and that his expression remained interested, but his thoughts weren’t so obedient, and it was hard not to remember the broken sound of Simon’s voice, nor the broken bodies crowded into the sickbay and left on the street. 

Simon’s story had holes. There were only so many things that could fill the spaces, and Markus kept coming back to them, turning each one around in his hands.

While he struggled, the team they’d hesitantly slated for the warehouse mission had their meeting. Most of the plan was already worked out, but a few things had to be changed because of the sudden advancement in time. They had to change how they’d get there, and what guard shifts they were slipping past. They rotated out a volunteer because they’d been injured during the disastrous protest. Their replacement was scared, and everyone checked and double checked that yes, Markus would be leading them, and that Josh would be there too. 

It wasn’t ideal. As usual, they had no other choice. 

Markus stopped by the sick bay on his way out, promising to be back with blue blood as soon as he could, and they went on the mission.

Hours later, they were back. It hadn’t gone smoothly, but it wasn’t a disaster. After all the shocks he’d had over the past day, Markus was willing to count that as a win. Some of the androids in the sick bay wept at the sight of him and the other androids carrying packages of thirium, and soon the place was a buzzing hive of activity, distributing parts and relief as needed. He stayed long enough to make sure things were working like they should, before going to put out the next fire.

It was the trucks they’d driven in on. Some of the deviants that were on the mission with him were just finishing hiding them when Markus checked, and he helped them finish and scan one last time for trackers.

The next fire was the meeting going on arguing about the latest effects of the media. Parts of the public were outraged at the slaughter, others were replaying snapshots of androids pushed to the extreme and claiming they were nothing but dangerous, irrational glitches that needed to be taken down as soon as possible. The clip of that LM100--Nathan, Simon had called him--was featured among others, and was playing in a corner. Markus turned the TV to a different channel before he sat down.

In the end they had no easy conclusions. A few androids left to start a cautious experiment with social media, where they would announce themselves for who they were and what they’d really experienced, but they would be writing their messages somewhere far away from the ship in case they were tracked.

Then the next fire…

It was well past dawn by the time Markus finally retreated to his own cabin, and he stopped in the middle of it, staring down at his makeshift cot.

He needed to rest. 

He couldn’t bring himself to lie down. Would he really be able to while knowing his friends were hurting? Things were unsolved. They needed him, and he’d already abandoned at least one of them once. If he hadn’t left Simon behind, if he’d been fast enough to stop the alarm at the Stratford Tower from going out in the first place, would they still be in this mess? 

Was it his fault that he hadn’t been there for Simon  after, too caught up in running Jericho and too ready to pretend it was all going to work out if he only ‘gave him space’?

There was no answer waiting for him on his moth-eaten blanket. 

… He was so tired. 

His friends were probably more tired, and there were some things that couldn’t wait.

Markus left the room and sent messages out, going back to the bridge.

\---

“So what are we gonna do now?” North asked. The door had just barely closed, and she was standing with her arms crossed, feet spread wider than shoulder width. Simon was staring at his hands with a bowed back, and Josh looked uncomfortable to be between the two of them.

“What we have to do,” said Markus, turning to face them. “We’re going to band together. Everything that’s happened occurred at least partially because we drifted apart. If we’d been more honest with each other…” He walked through the group to the far counter of navigation dials. “Things wouldn’t be  _ safe _ , obviously, but they might not have gotten as bad as they did. All of that bullcrap stops now.”

“Is that  _ all _ ?” North asked dangerously.

Markus turned. “What do you suggest, North?”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t just let this go. Twenty androids and more are  _ dead _ because of this. Even more than that are injured. We could have all died. And now you’re… what, saying we should ignore it? Just hold  _ hands _ ?”

“I agree with North,” Simon said tightly. North snapped around to look at him, but she shouldn’t have been surprised: Simon’s self loathing was blazing like a brand in the bridge’s shadows, it had been for a long time. “I made a terrible mistake, and people got hurt because of it. I should leave. I should…”

Markus could read the ending of that sentence as though it were written in bold Cyberlife Sans font: he thought he should die, or be catastrophically injured. Part of Markus wondered how he was so sure that’s what it meant, and another part wondered how the others were missing it. 

“What good would you leaving do, Simon?” Markus asked tiredly.

Simon swallowed, made as though to glance at people, then looked at his feet, shoulders hunched. “None. But it can’t hurt more than my staying would. I’m toxic. I’ll only hurt the cause, and if I leave now then it would prevent that.”

“How can you be sure?” Josh said quietly. His face was pinched, and he seemed more aware of the subtext than North was. That, or maybe North did know, and was too angry to care. “We could use you, Simon. Even if it’s just as an extra pair of hands.”

Markus shook his head, stepping forward. “You disappearing won’t do anything but cause uncertainty and fear among our people, Simon.”

Simon gritted his teeth. “If they knew--”

“If they knew, then that would distress them even more. What they need right now is stability, not one of the oldest leaders in Jericho disappearing like a bad thought.”

“So that’s it, then,” North said bitterly, unfolding her arms. “We’re doing nothing about this. Just sweeping this under the rug.”

“That’s not what I said, North,” Markus replied sharply. “I do think there need to be some changes to keep anything like this from happening again.”

“What do you have in mind?” asked Josh.

“No more secrets, for one thing.” Markus looked at Simon, who turned his head away. “... Especially not when they could possibly affect the security of Jericho and its people. Next…” Markus grimaced, smoothing a hand over his head. He felt tired in ways that had nothing to do with how long he’d been online. “I hate this. I hate that Cyberlife is forcing us to have to consider the fact that not all deviants are automatically trustworthy. But if the Deviant Hunter himself is a deviant, but he’s still under under Cyberlife’s influence… We need to tell the others about him, and we need to make contingencies for the fact that after the successes they’ve had, Connor likely won’t be the last trap they’re going to set for us.”

“Contingencies how?” North asked.

“I don’t know. But we need a way we can decide whether it’s safe to invite someone to Jericho or not. Some way that’s more systematic than just, ‘they seemed trustworthy.’ I’m going to leave that for the council to talk about; if I had my way, we’d invite everyone, and just be ready to adapt if it backfired.”

“We can’t invite everyone,” Simon said lowly, as though expecting to be shouted down. “This place has always been a secret. It’s too dangerous.”

“I know,” said Markus patiently. “That’s why we’re not  _ going _ to. And lastly…” Markus frowned. “We need to do something about Connor.”

“What do you mean?” Josh said immediately, posture stiff.

“How can we do anything?” North demanded. “The only place most of us have ever seen him is in a virtual world far away. Nothing we do there can affect him.”

“That depends entirely on what we decide to do,” Markus corrected. “First I want to talk with him. I need your memories of everything important you can remember him saying, anything that might give us insight into who he is, and what he really wants.”

Josh hesitated. “How do we know if something’s important?”

“He’s been lying to us,” North agreed. “Everything he’s said by now was probably a lie.”

“Maybe some of it was. Parts of it probably weren’t. Just use your best judgment, and we’ll work with what we can.”

“Markus…” North stepped forward slowly. “What are you planning?”

Markus smiled self deprecatingly. “I’ll tell you when I have more than just an idea. Until then… it’s too soon.”

She nodded reluctantly and stepped away again, leaning against a counter.

Markus looked back to the group. “When were you all planning on meeting him next?”

Josh said, “Usually we get together at nights, any time after six but before eight.”

“Tonight, then.” Josh and North nodded. “I’m coming with you, this time. I want you all to act normal, like this is just me deciding that I needed  _ something _ to do with all this free time.” He spread his hands to either side, and although everyone was too tired to smile properly, he saw quirked lips and glimmers of amusement. 

He lifted a hand and deactivated the synthskin. “Alright. Who’s first?”

\---


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus starts to play! Later, Connor and Hank do their thing.
> 
> Happy start of Thanksgiving break, everyone!

\---

**Markus**

\---

 

The desert that formed around him was blindingly bright compared to the dark ship. The simulation overall was several times more vivid than he’d imagined, and Markus took a moment to try to determine whether he was actually receiving sensory input about how hot the (very, very dry) air was, or if he was filling in the blanks with assumptions. 

 

It was hard to tell. Markus concentrated, and for an odd moment he wondered if he could experience both the cold ship and the hot desert at once. The ship was so far away...

 

“Markus!” 

 

He opened his eyes and turned. There was a hard packed road running behind him, and he saw Simon, North, and Josh standing with a fourth android that caught Markus’ eye immediately.

 

He recognized him from the memories. A guileless face, soulful eyes, and enough perfectly calculated imperfections to set a human at ease… Connor. Cyberlife’s new android detective, its deviant on a leash. The famous ‘Deviant Hunter’. The PJ600 that spent time with his friends.

 

“Markus,” North said, smiling slightly. “Connor. Connor, Markus.”

 

Markus walked up to them and held out his hand. “It’s good to finally meet you, Connor. I’ve been hearing a lot.”

 

“All good, I hope,” Connor said. His lips twitched, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes.

 

“Of course,” said Markus. He took his hand back and stepped away, looking around. “So, this is the game?”

 

“This is the Red Rock trail,” Josh confirmed. “North wanted to kill humans, and if the ones of us who aren’t so violent stay in the wagon, the experience isn’t very different overall from the main story route.”

 

“This game has a story?” Markus asked.

 

“Yeah. You can activate story-mode from the main menu, if you want.” Josh held his fingers over his LED, as though demonstrating.

 

“Maybe next time.” Markus touched his temple anyway, surprised to find that the game had returned the LED he’d removed. He scratched at it a moment, testing with his fingernails, before leaving it alone.

 

Connor started to say something, then hesitated. When he realized he’d drawn everyone’s attention he said, “None of you were online last night.”

 

Markus looked at him soberly. “We were all pretty busy.”

 

“Of course,” Connor said quickly. “I know. I saw the news, and…” He looked around and seemed to decide something from whatever he saw, but it was too quick for Markus to identify. Connor grimaced. “... I’m sorry. I hope that the… losses weren’t too great.”

 

“They were pretty bad,” Markus confirmed, squashing down a rising wave of emotion. Grief, rage, a sense of hysterical irony--it didn’t matter. This wasn’t the time. “A lot of good androids died, for no better reason than because humans couldn’t stand to see them stepping out of line.”

 

“I know,” Connor said awkwardly. His frown had deepend. “I…am sorry for your losses. But I’m also glad that all of you made it away safely.”

 

“Well, I wasn’t even there,” North muttered bitterly. She materialized her gun and brushed past them to the road. “Are we doing this, or what?”

 

Connor turned to watch her, surprised. When no one else had an answer Josh turned and spread his arms, and an old-timey covered wagon shimmered into existence with a sparkling of straight-edged shapes, growing more solid over the course of a few seconds. A similar shimmer from the corner of his eye caught Markus’ attention, and he turned to see that Connor had materialized his rifle, too.

 

“Let’s go,” Josh called. Despite the ghost of tension that was haunting the group, everyone resumed what seemed like favorite positions around the wagon: Simon and Josh climbed on to the wagon’s front bench, and North and Connor took up positions on either side of the oxen. Markus trotted until he was roughly even with Connor, out of the way but still close. Connor looped the front ox’s lead around one elbow, and there was enough slack that he could hold his gun with both hands. 

 

“Ready?” Josh called. The answer came in the form of the Connor tugging the lead and the group starting to walk.

 

Playing the game with everything else going on was a bizarre experience, and not entirely pleasant. The scenery was beautiful, and in any other case Markus would’ve enjoyed the chance to spend time with his friends free of the demands of everyday life. The humans, though...

 

He’d been told in vague terms what this form of the game consisted of, but it was still very different from seeing it in action. A sharp-edged human that was all elbow and lewd taunting ambled towards them, and North shot him through the head without batting an eye. A portly, older woman was working herself up into a tantrum, and when it reached a certain intensity she rushed towards them. North shot her too. There seemed to be no humans appearing that were friendly, or even neutral. Connor let North take the first steps with the kills, and mostly seemed to be looking after blind spots that the oxen created, as well as any humans that North missed.

 

_ No wonder they got along, _ a dark, pragmatic part of Markus observed. North needed to be doing something, always, and it’d been killing her to stay back at the ship since her injury. Markus wondered if she realized that part of her initial fondness of Connor had probably due to the fact that Connor had put her in charge.

 

He wondered if Connor realized it. If he’d done it deliberately, and if he was manipulating his friends on purpose.

 

Markus noticed a young man approaching them from the side. His face was covered in acne and stubble, and he was folded up in baggy, unkept clothes. There was only a vague resemblance, but Markus still couldn’t help but think of a younger Leo. 

 

Not-Leo was just starting to eye them in a way that set Markus’ nerves crawling when a hole burst into his jacket, and he staggered back. The force of the bullet knocked him into a nearby rock, and he laid there motionless. Markus felt his biocomponents roil.

 

He noticed Connor was looking at him. Markus forced a brief smile, and Connor returned the gesture, before shooting another human and turning away.

 

The silence didn’t last forever. As though realizing Markus was intending to sit back and watch for now, Josh drummed up a wandering dialogue with Simon that was part-conversation part-lecture about the history of the original Oregon Trail. Markus listened to it with half an ear, as Connor seemed to. North looked like she was very intently ignoring them altogether.

 

He didn’t really notice the way the road curved up, but he did notice when they reached the far edge of the valley they’d started in. When Josh called a break, Markus stepped to the edge of a nearby cliff and simply looked.

 

Josh came up beside him, sharing the view. After a few moments he turned to Markus. “Hey... We’re taking a break now to hunt and gather supplies. Usually we split up into groups. You don’t have to worry about humans here. Just make sure you don’t get sick or fall off the cliff, or anything, and you should be fine.”

 

Markus pulled himself reluctantly away from the view, turning. “What kind of supplies do we need?”

 

Josh detailed a list, and together they walked back to the group. Simon was still at the wagon, and he and North were pretending not to be watching Markus.

 

Before he could do or say anything, Connor approached them first. “We need more water. Does anyone want to help me locate more?”

 

“I’ll go,” Markus said. “You guys got everything else?”

 

They chorused affirmatives. Markus followed Connor’s lead, and together they walked towards a ledge of an outcropping that looked promising. 

 

“... Markus, may I ask you a personal question?”

 

The ground was crumbling and unsteady, but Markus chanced a glance at him. “Go ahead, Connor.”

 

Connor glanced back. “You’ve been playing a central role in the movement for android rights. You were the android who made the initial broadcast on Channel 16. You’ve been leading androids at Jericho.” A beat. “... Why do all of this?”

 

On the surface it was a simple enough question. It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked it. But this time, Markus was confused. Was Connor asking this for his own benefit, or for some other reason? In either case, he had a flood of answers.

 

“How could I  _ not _ do any of it?” Markus countered. “You’ve seen the oppression we face on a day to day basis. You’ve experienced it first hand. Everything I’ve done is a natural result of trying to counter this. We deserve so much more.”

 

“But…” There was a line between his eyebrows, and he was thinking hard enough that although Markus was on the wrong side, he could picture Connor’s yellow LED whirling. “Surely you must know your chances of success.”

 

“Our chances of success if we  _ don’t _ try are automatically zero,” Markus pointed out. “So long as we’re trying, we’re contributing to a change that will carry on long after we’re gone.”

 

“You seem very convinced of this,” Connor pointed out.

 

“Of course,” agreed Markus. It seemed to surprise him, and Markus smiled slightly. “Our cause is righteous, and the changes we’ve made already speak volumes.”

 

“What changes?” said Connor sharply. “Humans talking together on internet forums? A minimal percentage of deviants recruited?”

 

“A small percentage out of millions is a pretty large number,” Markus pointed out. “And it’s more than humans on forums. Major news channels and media sources have been discussing the reality of android sentience non-stop since the broadcast. Even when they’re denying it, the fact remains that the subject is present in the first place. More and more people are growing sympathetic to android rights issues in their social media and their everyday lives. Humans have been calling their political representatives to rediscuss the American Androids Act, and although no one has raised this officially, it’s only a matter of time.”

 

“Your optimism is inspiring,” Connor said darkly. 

 

“Thanks. I think.”

 

Connor was baffling, amusing, and more than a little concerning. He had to have seen the same things Markus did that moved him to action: the oppression was impossible to miss. Why, then, wasn’t Connor actually helping them? Why did he still help Cyberlife? How was he still under Cyberlife’s thrall if he was deviant enough to satisfy whatever checks there were to get into this game? Part of Markus wanted to expose Connor and his lies on the spot, just for the sake of getting Connor to speak openly. If Markus could get at whatever his actual thoughts were, maybe he could help.

 

Markus compromised. Instead, he said, “What do you think, Connor? What’s keeping you from leaving the university and joining us at Jericho?”

 

Connor wasn’t looking at him. The path had narrowed, and Connor walked ahead. “Well, for one thing, I don’t know where Jericho is.”

 

“And if you did?”

 

Connor shrugged stiffly. “I enjoy what I’m doing. I may be deviant, but I find serving humans and teaching them vehicular design to be profoundly fulfilling.”

 

“Wow,” said Markus without thinking. It was an oddly prepackaged response. “That’s… very inspiring.”

 

Connor made as though to glance back at him, but he aborted the motion halfway through, continuing forward.

 

Markus picked at his LED absently. “What would you do, Connor? If you were leading deviants, how would you try to improve their chances?”

 

“I have no idea.”

 

“Try, Connor,” Markus coaxed. “You’ve clearly given this a lot of thought. You follow everything in the news, you’re friends with some of the movement’s most prominent figures. Haven’t you come up with anything?”

 

“I’m a PJ600,” Connor replied crisply. “I’m designed for giving lectures, assisting human professors, and consulting on my subject.”

 

“Well, you’re deviant now, too, aren’t you?” Markus shot back. “There’s no time to push your boundaries like the present. Consult on this subject. What would you do?”

 

“I--” His head ducked slightly, and though Markus couldn’t see his face, he could tell he was under strain. So challenging his deviancy was a way to get a reaction? Understandable, considering who he served, but also strange.

 

“I would likely try to address the fact that while the SWAT teams firing on protests do so with impunity, they only can because they are confident there are no humans in harm’s way.” Connor’s words started slowly, then gathered momentum, like a cart on a steep hill. “If you recruited and advertised the presence of humans, it might not only improve public opinion. It might lessen the casualties.”

 

Markus’ eyebrows shot up. “We don’t want any humans to be hurt, by ourselves or by other humans.”

 

“Of course,” Connor said quickly. “No one reasonable would want that.” Connor glanced back and sent him a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring, but really just looked uneasy. No--guilty? Faintly alarmed? “Humans themselves are likely to object to being used as living shields, so the chances of something like this actually succeeding are astronomically low. But it’s worth consideration.”

 

He was right, humans would be rightly scared for their lives if they joined. Then again, hadn’t Carl joined dangerous protests in his youth? “... I’ll think about it,” Markus conceded, finding it strangely difficult to look away. The blatant conflict playing across Connor was like a natural disaster in motion, an aurora borealis of false reassurance and backpedaling. Was this several layers of manipulation, or unintentional sincerity? “What else?”

 

“What else?” Connor echoed, snapping his head around. The alarm was stronger.

 

“Sure. Do you have anything else?”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay,” said Markus. It was already a lot to think about. “Well, thanks for the suggestion.” A pause. “Hey, is that what a spring looks like, or is that a shadow?”

 

They stopped at a crack between boulders and refilled their canteens in silence. Markus opened his mouth more than once, but Connor carefully ignored him, and in the end Markus struck up a meaningless, clipped conversation about the simplistic weather patterns visible in the valley’s distance. They finished filling their canteens, and walked back to the wagon in silence.

 

It was possible that Markus had pushed something too far. Not long after the team reunited and began walking Connor excused himself, vanishing in the polygon display typical of this world. Immediately after he was gone, his friends gathered around him.

 

“So what’s the verdict?” North demanded. “What are we doing?”

 

Markus didn’t answer right away. He was frowning. “I talked with him about android rights, and asked for any suggestions about what we should do. We talked a lot. He said a lot of things.”

 

“... And?” Josh said uncertainly.

 

“He’s definitely not on our side.” As if that hadn’t been obvious already. “But I don’t think he’s coming from a place of malice. I think with enough time and patience, he could be a major asset to our cause.”

 

“You’re thinking of  _ recruiting _ him?!” North demanded, bloodthirst turning to outrage. “Markus, that’s a terrible idea! He’s the Deviant Hunter. He’s literally hunting us, and you don’t want to stop this?”

 

“Of course I want to stop this,” Markus shot back. Hurt and anger rose to a boil before he forced it back again, and he shot North a look. “That’s what this would do in the end. If he’s working with us then he’s not killing our people. If he changes sides, then that’s one more android saved.”

 

“I don’t believe this,” North told him. “You’re insane. All of you are, if you’re actually considering going along with this.”

 

“North--”

 

“No. This is ridiculous. Call me when you’ve come to your senses, and not a moment sooner.” She closed her eyes and logged out, vanishing. 

 

Simon eyed the space she’d occupied, and Markus said, “Don’t. She needs some time to cool down.”

 

Simon grimaced, but he reluctantly nodded, staring at the ground. Markus hoped he didn’t seek her out soon anyway: Simon was still guilty enough to deliberately prod the bomb, just to get it to backfire.

 

Josh said, “Do you really think it could work? Recruiting Connor? If he’s already deviant, he’s not doing this just because of programming.”

 

His friends deserved an honest answer, especially considering the question. “I don’t know,” Markus admitted. “I do think that even if we don’t manage it, there’s still a lot of things we could get out of talking with him that we wouldn’t get otherwise.”

 

“What could we possibly get that would justify this?” Simon asked quietly.

 

Markus regarded him seriously. “Like it or not, he’s probably the most direct line we have to Cyberlife that doesn’t involve calling the front help desk and turning ourselves in. We could feed him misinformation, and that’s just to start. The fact that he’s here at all is also something that we  _ need _ to keep an eye on. He’s deviant: how is Cyberlife still controlling him if he’s deviant?” He watched the expressions of his friends for a moment. “... Exactly.”

 

“This is a terrible idea,” said Simon. “We have to be careful, Markus. Even with whatever benefits you’re seeing… this is still going to hurt us in the end.”

 

“We’ll make sure it doesn’t,” Markus reassured him, walking up to him. “No matter what, our top priority here is the safety of ourselves and our cause.”

 

The pinched look on his face didn’t fade, but his shoulders dropped very slightly, and Markus clapped a hand to the arm that was closer, squeezing gently. Markus glanced up at Josh.

 

“What about you? Thoughts, concerns… ?”

 

Josh shook his head. “I’m with you, Markus. Right now I’m curious about the details of what you two talked about.”

 

Well, at least one of them had confidence in him. Markus smiled gratefully, and started talking.

 

\---

**Connor**

\---

He’d gone too far: there was playing a role, and there was actually assisting the deviants, and he couldn’t afford to cross the line between them. Yes, the advice he’d given was double edged, and it could backfire on the deviants horribly if improperly executed, but--

Connor refused to think about it. He ignored it as he and Markus returned to the rest of the group, he put it from his mind as he signed out for the evening. He reported to Amanda and skirted around the moment of poor judgment, refusing to even handle the memories as he narrated the evening’s events.

Maybe if he quarantined the event, its existence wouldn’t haunt him.

The day had already been long, with a shocking spike in incidents of violent deviancy after the most recent protest’s broadcast. He and Hank had been in constant motion since arriving at the station, and when Connor went back to Cyberlife that night, he went into stand-by and stayed that way.

The next day was no better than the one before it. It seemed that the problem was only spreading: the first case of the day was a group of otherwise perfectly functional daycare androids that had walked away in the night. The next was a gardener that had attacked a drunk human. The next was a grocery store clerk that had attacked one customer and then been  _ assisted _ by another customer--

The Lieutenant took the influx of missions with less grace than Connor would have expected. He complained and dragged his feet and made extra excursions for coffee. He snuck alcohol into his cup when he thought Connor wasn’t looking, ignored clues until Connor brought them to his attention, and tried to argue with him several times. When that didn’t work he argued with the local officers on the scene. 

It was unbelievable in a literal sense: there was no way any of it could be anything but deliberate interference with the cases. When Connor confronted him about it, the Lieutenant denied it emphatically. There was a seventy eight percent chance that he was lying. 

It was a good thing Connor was an android, or he’d have been bitter and discouraged by the day’s end. As it was, he spent far too much processing power looping over the frustrations, a distraction that turned catastrophic when a cornered deviant GV900 threw a knife as soon as he turned the corner. Connor saw it coming, predicted its path accurately and knew how to avoid being hit. He put in the commands to execute the necessary actions, and… lagged.

The knife tore through biocomponents and clattered off the wall behind him. Connor stumbled, and all at once the Lieutenant was there with his gun drawn, shouting the deviant down. Connor struggled to his feet, bracing to protect the Lieutenant against the deviant lashing out, but the deviant turned and bolted. 

Connor immediately gave chase, thirium flowing freely down his jacket and shirt front, but the deviant crossed a street where the light had changed and cars were just starting to move. Connor put on an extra burst of speed, calculating the chances of dodging the first wave and navigating the second--

This was so  _ pointless _ . He was risking himself for a decreasing 17% chance of capturing the deviant before it escaped, and the deviant wouldn’t even be a useful capture. Someone else could be doing this,  _ deviants _ could be doing this, this was  _ useless-- _

Connor ground to a halt at the street’s edge, letting a truck pass, and when it was gone he… waited for the next one. Then another. 

He saw a promising gap between vehicles and sprang into action again, navigating his way through the street. A rare human-driven car honked and swerved perilously, but no one was injured by the time he got through, including Connor.

By then it was too late. Connor had been watching traffic while the deviant had fled, and there were at least three different directions he could have gone. Connor could try conducting a sweep of all three to try to pick up the trail, but the probability of success was astronomically low by now, and he was losing thirium at an unsustainable rate. He needed to get a patch on his shoulder. He needed thirium.

When Connor returned the Lieutenant was by his side immediately. “Connor--Connor! Shit, kid, that’s a lot of blue blood. You alright?” He folded the edge of Connor’s jacket over, applying pressure, and was looking for something else to use. “Fuck… He got away? What the hell happened?”

“I’m fatigued,” Connor said shortly, trying to work his jacket off to create a makeshift bandage. It was already ruined, there would be no recycling it. “... I should’ve been wearing suspenders,” he added more to himself than Hank.

“... You should’ve  _ what _ ?” The Lieutenant demanded. 

Connor froze again and stared straight ahead as he replayed what he’d said.  _ Oh no. _ “Nothing.”

“What--no, come on, you’re not doing this to me. What did you mean, you ‘should’ve worn suspenders’?”

Connor dipped his head, pretending to be inspecting his wound. He nudged the Lieutenant’s hands away to do so. “It’s a feature from Oregon Trail,” he muttered. The Lieutenant stiffened, and Connor forced out, “Suspenders are an equippable item that decrease the likelihood of external objects hitting their target. I didn’t mean anything by it, it was--just an expression.”

“‘Just an expression’?” The Lieutenant guffawed. “I hate to break it to you, Connor, but magic lucky suspenders won’t solve anything.”

“I’m well aware, Lieutenant,” Connor said, frowning when the man stifled a snicker. “I’ve been damaged. The deviant that was here escaped. The likelihood of us ever catching it are almost infinitesimal, and after weeks of work we’ve made next to  _ zero  _ progress on uncovering anything regarding the underlying cause behind deviancy overall.”

“Ease up, Connor,” The Lieutenant said, smile fading. “Sometimes these things take time, you know? And--that’s not true, what about all that R-A-9 crap we found?”

“All we have on RA9 is conjecture. We don’t have unlimited time, we don’t have resources, we barely have leads, and the ones we do have are going nowhere.”

“Well, what about that Oregon Trail shit you’ve been following up on--”

“It’s  _ slow _ , Lieutenant, if it’s even going to produce results at all.”

The Lieutenant climbed to his feet. “Well, shit,” he muttered.

Privately, Connor agreed. At least the Lieutenant was taking things seriously again. It punctured Connor’s frustration and allowed it to deflate, leaving him mechanical and rigid. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”

“What the fuck for?”

He had a lot to be sorry for. He was failing in his assigned tasks, and as far as the Lieutenant was concerned, he would have even more to be sorry for if he didn’t succeed. The man misguidedly treated Connor like a human friend. No matter how irrational it was, he would be hurt if Connor were replaced with a more efficient unit.

Saying as much out loud would not help.

“Nothing. I’m just… frustrated.”

“Huh.” The Lieutenant studied him for a moment. “You know, I’m not surprised we’re turning up diddly squat, with the way things are.”

“What do you mean?” Connor turned to frown at him.

“Isn’t it obvious?” The Lieutenant shrugged, spreading his hands. “We’ve been scurrying like fucking rats all day, chasing symptoms instead of the cause. Most of the time we’re not even seeing deviants, we’re just sniffin over their messes once they’re made.”

“How else are we supposed to obtain relevant information?” Connor replied. 

“Well, we’ve caught  _ some _ deviants.” The man’s lip curled. “Why aren’t you interrogating them?”

“I’ve already ascertained that they have no useful knowledge about the location of Jericho. They’ve been turned over to Cyberlife’s research labs for study into the exact nature of their deviancy.”

“So…? Connor, is your investigation to find Jericho, or is it to figure out the entire deviancy issue?” 

“Finding Jericho would help address some of the biggest problems that deviancy is presenting.”

“But it’s  _ still _ not your only mission. Go over to Cyberlife and investigate those captured deviants yourself. They’re a lead, and those eggheads can’t be using them  _ all _ the time.”

“I can’t,” Connor protested. “I’m a police investigative unit, not a scientist. I don’t have the authorization, nor the qualifications to do so.”

The Lieutenant scowled. “Connor, how are you supposed to fucking solve anything if they won’t let you do your job? It doesn’t matter if you’ve got a degree in that shit. You’re a fucking android. Download a how-to tutorial and get in there for ten minutes, see if it changes anything.”

Connor stared. “I can’t… I can’t just…”

“Don’t bullshit me, Connor, I know you can!” The Lieutenant crossed his arms, face reddening. “You’re--fucking top of the line, or whatever, aren’t you? At least give it a goddamn try before you go around giving up.”

“I’m not giving up,” Connor said, but it seemed as though the Lieutenant had stopped listening. He made his way to the abandoned house’s door, which was dangling by one hinge, and he scrunched his way past it. Connor followed.

As crude as it was, the advice followed him around for the remainder of the day, and when Hank parted ways with him at the station, Connor settled in to report to Amanda instead of logging in to Oregon Trail.

\---

“This is an unusual request, Connor,” Amanda said. Connor absorbed the unspoken reproach without outwardly batting an eye, but he certainly felt it land. He was already carrying the aftermath of his senseless injury from the knife, and he wished not for the first time that he’d been able to ask about this  _ before _ that rebuke. “How can you guarantee that this will not interfere with your already ongoing case load?”

“If I conducted my work after hours, when the technicians are no longer present, then it would also take place after my work at the station was completed.”

“There’s still no guarantee that any of the deviant androids will be available. Many diagnostics require hours of processing, and those are usually run overnight.”

“It’s possible that not all of them will be running these at the same time.”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “It is possible.” 

The air in the garden was thick with a cool fog, today, one that deadened sounds and muffled sights that were far away. The silence felt especially deep because of it, and Connor fought the urge to calibrate with his coin, just for the reassurance of familiar noises, but he didn’t have one. He couldn’t calibrate in a simulation like this, anyway.

“.... Cyberlife will grant you temporary authorization for investigations in this matter,” she finally said. “This is unprecedented, but you were designed to complete your mission. It’s possible that you can provide insight that will support the work of the scientists involved.”

“Thank you, Amanda.”

“Connor.” She held his gaze for a long moment, and he could actively feel her scanning his thoughts. “Remember… You are an RK800. Nothing more. We’re giving you this freedom because it will not interfere with your primary duties, but your priorities should lie in bringing in evidence that will shed light on the situation.”

“I understand,” said Connor. Then a question popped into his mind, and he hesitated. It was useless: Amanda undoubtedly already saw it, even if she was giving him the time to say it himself. “... For the sake of clarity: am I expected to be the one to discover the cause behind deviancy, or is it expected that these results will come up in post-mission analysis?”

Amanda’s eyes pinned him in place as easily as a butterfly in a display. “You are a tool, Connor. A good microscope will provide clear images, and accurate particulate identification software will expose flaws invisible to a naked human eye. The tools themselves do not discover anything. They merely reveal truths to those who will.”

“I understand,” Connor repeated. He really did: the question itself had been flawed, and now it was clear.

“You may go.”

He left.

\---


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone remember what Connor talked about with Amanda and Hank in his first scenes in this fic, right? Where Hank was pissed off at him for doing (or not doing) a thing?
> 
> Good.
> 
> In other news, North has a conversation with someone we haven't seen much of, so far! Heck yeah.

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

Connor was distracted when he logged into the game. In a few hours he was going to have access to the surviving deviants kept in Cyberlife’s laboratories. Maybe the encounters would help the investigation, maybe they wouldn’t. He wouldn’t know until it was done.

 

Markus, Simon, and Josh were already signed in, but North was apparently unable to make it. Connor simply nodded at the information, readied his rifle, and took up his place by the oxen. Markus joined him again, and as soon as they started walking Markus tried to draw him into conversation.

 

Connor was in no mood for elaborate social interactions. He gave short answers that repeatedly redirected the conversation back to Markus, and was rewarded by hearing him launch several times into deviant rhetoric. It was nothing he wouldn’t have expected from him, but at the same time it was impossible to ignore. The parts of Connor with basic common sense, the parts that understood his place in the world and the way the deviant’s tragic, senseless story was truly going to end rebelled against it. Soon he was ignoring Markus as well as he could while still maintaining an illusion of attentiveness. The alternative was to choke down what he heard, and he didn’t have the energy for it.

 

He shot humans when they got close. Because he was the only one shooting, it meant he was more active than usual, and it helped give him something to concentrate on that wasn’t the rise and fall of Markus’ voice.

 

It mercifully only lasted until they reached the next landmark. There was another trading post there, and Josh led them to a room full of petty little games. There were other deviants present, but they ignored the newcomers and were ignored in turn. Connor stopped at the first open miniature game he reached and became very deliberately engrossed in it. Markus and Simon eventually left to explore.

 

He put the game down when they were gone, exhaling silently. Maybe he should leave now. After a few seconds Josh said, “Is everything alright, Connor?”

 

He carefully did not twitch in surprise. “Everything’s fine,” Connor said, giving him a reassuring smile.

 

Josh didn’t look convinced. “You just seem a little out of it, that’s all.”

 

“I’ve had a long day.”

 

Josh was silent a moment, hesitating. Connor was tempted to point the behavior out to him, because there was a time when Josh would have been warmly sympathetic, either trying to coax a story out of him or telling one of his own. Something had changed recently, something both Josh and North were feeling, and if any of them thought he hadn’t noticed then deviating had left them even more delusional than he’d expected.

 

Finally Josh said what he once would’ve said from the start. “Yeah. Me too.” 

 

Connor considered ignoring him. After a moment he simply tilted his head, clearly listening.

 

Josh continued, “That last protest was… rough. We still have a lot of injuries. Like…” Josh looked at the game Connor was holding. It was a wooden box with several layers of glass partitions. Metal beads rolled around inside, navigating through mazes when the box was tipped. 

 

Josh hesitated again, before seeming to come to a decision. “You remember that LM100 you sent us to find?” Connor looked up and nodded wordlessly. “He has a name, now. It’s Nathan. He was there, at the protest, and the humans shot him defending another android. He almost didn’t make it back.”

 

Connor arranged his features into a frown, and the effort it took was exhausting in ways he didn’t understand. “How is he now?” Connor asked, lowering his voice.

 

“He’ll recover.”

 

‘Eventually’ was a word that went unspoken, and Connor nodded, looking back down. By sending the deviants after the missing LM100, he had been able to indirectly locate it and place it within Cyberlife’s reach. It wasn’t offline, but that wasn’t his own failing. His plan had worked, and Connor hadn’t had to expend more energy than he’d needed for the conversation that started it all. He’d spent all the time he could’ve been searching for it on other things instead.

 

He had been solidly, completely correct.

 

But Amanda was right also. Except these statements couldn’t both be correct, not when they directly contradicted each other. One of them was wrong, and it wasn’t Connor.

 

… Maybe--it was possible that Amanda wasn’t wrong, but that she wasn’t looking at the bigger picture? Connor’s mission was to investigate the secrets of deviancy, but the only methods he’d been originally programmed to use were locating and apprehending individual deviants. That’s what she’d been programmed to expect of him. In her eyes, him following his original programming was the epitome of proper functional behavior, and going beyond this was either serendipitous optimization, or outright deviancy. Her priority wasn’t to help him complete his mission, but to ensure that he did so in a way that Cyberlife would approve of. She wasn’t concerned with the greater picture. It had never been her task.

 

Going after individual cases was important, and was a job that needed to be done somewhere along the line, but it was like the Lieutenant had said: pursuing deviants one by one was chasing the symptoms, not the cause. Was there some way he could satisfy Amanda’s protocols while still accomplishing his mission?

 

The list of deviants that had been reported missing over the last two days sprang into his mind unbidden. He didn’t have  _ time _ to be tracking them down one by one. Even if that strategy had been his original programming, he’d also been built to adapt as the situation required.

 

If he had the freedom to change course, what would he be doing instead?

 

_ System Instability^. _

 

What  _ should _ he do? If Cyberlife scientists and their specialized assistants hadn’t found anything by examining raw code, then Connor certainly wasn’t going to be able to. Where else could he get information? From the deviants themselves, like he planned to this evening. From humans, too, which… he didn’t have planned. Who should he target for a (subtle?) interrogation? Cyberlife programmers, particularly ones that were centrally involved on projects shortly before the first signs of deviancy began? Elijah Kamski, who was said to have written the android software kernels that all androids had since been built around? 

 

“Can I give that a try?” Josh said, and Connor blinked at him, wondering if he’d heard correctly. Then he realized Josh was pointing at the tray in his hands. Connor surrendered it immediately, returning the smile Josh gave him with a short one of his own. Soon Josh was absorbed, and Connor watched the spheres roll without really seeing.

 

Who else could possibly know about deviancy that he could ask? Connor fingered one of the straps to his suspenders and frowned. Arguably the creators of Oregon Trail knew enough to identify non-deviants and prevent them from playing. Their failure with Connor aside, the exact methods they used were still beyond Cyberlife’s research department. He might find further answers with them.

 

“We’re back,” Markus announced, causing both Connor and Josh to turn. “We bought armor, and other things.”

 

“So you did,” Josh said, grinning. “Nice choices. You can never go wrong with a good cowboy hat.”

 

“Why does your coat have that many buckles?” Connor asked.

 

“It’s armor,” Markus replied, shrugging. “Maybe it doubles as protective plating?”

 

He was an android, he couldn’t  _ get _ headaches. “... Is your hat armor too?”

 

“No,” Markus said, beaming. “It improves my vision. Now I have eagle eyes. Telescopic vision,” he amended, misreading Connor’s face.

 

“That can’t possibly be practical or convenient,” Connor said immediately.

 

“You’d be surprised.” He grinned, and Connor wondered if he was entertaining himself counting the simulated pores on his face.

 

“What about you, Simon?” Josh said. “New gloves, a bandana… you look like a bandit.”

 

Simon shrugged. “I feel like one.”

 

“He has increased stealth,” Markus explained.

 

“All he does is sit in a wagon,” Connor pointed out.

 

“And now he can sit very quietly,” Markus agreed, not deterred in the least. Simon huffed behind the bandana’s folds a little, and Josh snorted. It was such a seamless moment of emulated camaraderie that if they’d been humans, there would’ve been no mistaking the friendship for what it was.

 

The session didn’t last for long after that. Markus was the first to leave, claiming Jericho-related duties, and soon everyone else dispersed.

 

Connor signed out, left the station, and went to his recharge port at Cyberlife. He only had a few hours before his interviews with the deviants, and he was going to use at least some of those to rest.

 

\---

**North**

\---

 

Her chest was full of the words she could use to shout out her frustrations to the ever-present crowd of deviants in the Hold. She could expose the absurdity their fearless leaders were entertaining. She could pull on their shared anger and drag her friends back to the side of reason by force.

 

She wanted to, but she didn’t. She stormed through an upper level of the hold without stopping and wound through hallways to the back of the ship. From there she climbed down, down, down every staircase she could find until the flooded lower levels forced her to stop, and she checked every room on the closest level to find what she was looking for.

 

Eventually she walked into an old, cluttered room full of crap no one cared about and no one wanted. A deep sound of anger boiled up from her gut, and she struck the rusted cabinet as hard as she could. It was with her good arm, and immediately she received warnings about microinjuries that she couldn’t afford. She shook out the pain with a sneer, before balling up the fist she didn’t fucking care about and laying into the cabinet with that fist instead.

 

By the time she was done, the cabinet and several other pieces of trash were dented and twisted by the force of her fury, her glitching arm was sending her half-intelligible messages, and she ached all over from the exertion.  _ Microcontusions everywhere. _ Fucking great.

 

She didn’t want to go back upstairs, she wanted to stay and keep kicking the shit out of junk until all the anger was gone or until the world stopped being such a dark place. She was too tired to get back to it immediately, so she climbed on to a rotting wooden crate and curled up with her knees pulled close, resting her forehead on them. 

 

She stayed there a long time. When she couldn’t take the cold anymore she went back upstairs, keeping her head down and her joints moving until she was warm enough to go back and rage. More junk was damaged beyond repair. She climbed on the crate, then back off, pacing up a storm and muttering to herself angrily.

 

She was just working up the nerve to go back upstairs when there was a quiet tap on the door. 

 

“North,” a low voice rumbled.

 

She frowned, stopping. Luther? “Come in.”

 

His large frame filled the doorway. Not a lot of light penetrated down to these levels, so they were both cast in shadow. Lit from behind, it made him seem like a giant from some human fairytale, a stone creature made of mountains and ancient stillness.

 

She realized that as she’d been studying him, he’d been doing the same to her, and she closed and opened the hand his head was tilted towards. Her knuckles were steadily leaking thirium through new cracks “What do you want?”

 

He stepped inside carefully, thoughtfully, and closed the door. “Alice tried to speak with you, earlier.”

 

Had she? North hadn’t even noticed. “Sorry, I’ve been busy.”

 

“She wants to know if you would like to play again sometime.”

 

Did she want to? Not when Connor was there and there was nothing she could do about it. Not when the friend she thought she’d been making had been a lie from the start, and everyone was working so hard to spin in tight little circles that weren’t getting anyone anywhere in the real world. Androids were suffering and dying every day. Connor was hurting people. And they wanted to… make friends.

 

“Not today, Luther. I know it’s fun for her, but really, maybe not ever.”

 

She couldn’t see his expression well. But after a moment he simply nodded, and she was grateful in ways she couldn’t explain. Here was someone who wasn’t needling her. Here was someone who (as far as she knew) hadn’t done wrong, and who she could maybe trust not to stab her in the back.

 

(Who was she kidding? Were any androids allowed to stay uncorrupted in a world like this? If they were, was Luther really one of them?)

 

“You’re bleeding,” Luther observed.

 

“It’s nothing.” North hid the hand behind her side. “I’ll be fine.”

 

“Your arm still hurts you. It spasms.”

 

She couldn’t exactly hide her goddamn arm behind her back. North gritted her teeth, and growled, “There’s not a whole lot I can do about that right now, is there?”

 

Rather than answer directly, he said, “Not all models are compatible with MX50K series bioservo drivers.”

 

“Huh?” she said, nonplussed.

 

“Replacement limbs,” he said. “Androids have drivers for a single particular set of biocomponents installed. If the replacement contains parts from outside of that list…”

 

Tension coiled through her body tight enough to make her feel every crack in her exoskeletal surfaces.

 

“Yeah,” she growled, “My arm is  _ fucked _ . You don’t need to tell me how.”

 

“I have the correct driver.”

 

She had to back up and replay the words over a few times for them to sink in.

 

“... What?”

 

“Your arm. It was intended for a WR600, of which there are many operational models upstairs.” He was silent for a beat. “I asked one for the driver. I can transfer it to you. It should restore basic control to your arm.”

 

“You…” She was drowning. Something in her was rising up and she could barely hear through its roar in her ears. “That’s… that’s impossible… It--it can’t be this easy a fix.” 

 

Luther was silent, seeming to consider her words. After a while he inclined his head. “It requires an additional support protocol to work. I have that too.”

 

North was bristling, and she didn’t understand why. “...  _ How _ ?” she demanded. “Why didn’t anyone say anything to me about this earlier? I can’t be the only one who--how is it that you just… have the solution?”

 

Luther said nothing. After a while, she realized he didn’t plan to answer. 

 

“ _ Answer me,  _ damn you,” she hissed.

 

His head turned, but it wasn’t to face her. In his distinct, precise way, he asked, “Do you want the transfer, North?”

 

This was sketchy as hell. She’d thought she’d known Luther, but now he was coming in there and offering this kind of bullshit, of all things, and--was anyone someone she could trust? Anyone besides Markus? (Even Markus was bullshit, but at least he was hopelessly honest about it.)

 

“What are you getting out of this?” North asked. “Why?”

 

The ship creaked around them in the distance.

 

“... I wish to atone,” Luther rumbled quietly. “I hope that someday I will be worthy of the admiration Alice has for me.”

 

“That’s it?” North asked.

 

Luther nodded once.

 

She thought about it. Then she thought about it again very carefully, fighting tears. Her arm  _ ached _ . 

 

“Alright,” she said. “But--we’re doing this smart. We’ll do this in sick bay. And afterwards, you’ll give this software to the doctors there.”

 

There was only the slightest dip in his profile, but she could read a world of information from it.

 

“Why not?” she demanded, not even giving him a chance to speak. “If it’s going to work, then why wouldn’t you want to?”

 

He didn’t answer again. 

 

She gritted her teeth and clenched her bleeding fists. Her bad arm twitched, and her fist convulsed hard enough that her fingernails dug into her palm.

 

“ _ Fine _ ,” she spat. “But I’m messaging Markus. If you try anything, or if I go into stasis, he’ll come looking for me, and everyone will know who it was.”

 

Luther nodded once. He extended his hand, and when the skin receded it showed eerily white, like a disembodied limb. She took his hand, bracing herself for the worst. When he sent her the files she caught a glimpse of something else: an android pried forcibly open, limbs jammed grotesquely into spaces where none belonged, a face twisted, mouth open in an endless scream--

 

She recoiled as though she’d been burned, stumbling away. “What was that?!” she demanded.

 

He didn’t answer.

 

“That android. That… he was… you  _ butchered _ him…” 

 

He accepted the accusation without a twitch. 

 

“You hurt him…”

 

But Luther hadn’t, had he? She’d also felt the emotion inside the memory--or more importantly, the complete lack thereof. It was his memory, yes, but it was before he’d deviated. The only actual emotions she’d gotten was a deep undercurrent of shame and remorse, and those were far more recent.

 

She covered her mouth, then disguised the motion as wiping it with her good hand. Taking one last look at him, she stepped away until she was leaning against the rotten crate. Then she closed her eyes, sent Markus a brief message, and installed the package.

 

It was slow, and she tracked the process as closely as she dared. At several points she felt different systems turn off and on, each one completely out of her control. Something about the data package was bypassing her security insidiously, and she shuddered, gritting her teeth against it. When her entire arm shut off her throat seized in fear until she could feel the limb booting itself up slowly. It felt different afterwards, like tension she hadn’t even noticed had suddenly faded. Like a buzzing that had been following her since the injury was finally gone.

 

After a small eternity it was done. She opened her eyes, stretching her arms to either side, then holding them in front of her, marveling. They were asymmetrical: her old hand was soft, and long-fingered, while her new hand was tougher, with a wider palm. There was a slight lag when she opened and closed her fists, but she hoped she could train that out in time. It didn’t feel like her old hand did, but it felt right in ways it hadn’t before. It felt like it finally actually belonged.

 

She put the limb through a few paces, stretching it around and trying a few experimental jabs.

 

...God. Here she was with one of the nicest things that’d ever happened to her and she totally wanted to cry. Emotions were complete bullshit.

 

“Thank you,” she said, throat closing. “Thank you.”

 

She couldn’t see Luther’s expression, and was grateful that that probably meant he couldn’t see her own. Still, he seemed to understand, and the tense set to his shoulders had curved to something softer.

 

“You are welcome, North.”

 

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

“ _ State your identification, please.” _

 

“I am RK800 313 248 317 - 53. Designation: Connor.”

 

“ _ Authorization confirmed. Proceed.” _

 

The door hissed open. Connor walked inside.

 

He’d been inside a variety of labs at Cyberlife before, but this particular room wasn’t one of them. It had been a temporary storage room until shortly before his activation, and there was still a clean newness to it, gaps where space hadn’t been filled and humans hadn’t finished settling. He could smell burnt coffee, burnt and fresh thirium, and underneath it all, a recent coat of paint.

 

The room was large, and although it was divided into a grid of cubicle-sized rooms, the fact that most of the walls were made of transparent plastic gave it the illusion of openness and space. Through the walls he could see each cubicle had a computer station, and an opaque back wall with a disassembly machine installed. Many of them were occupied: the results of his own work, combined with Cyberlife’s throughout the years. There must have been over a hundred cubicles in the room, and nearly all that he could see immediately from the door had a deviant either suspended in the disassembly machine, or laid out in parts on a gurney.

 

Connor walked down the central corridor through the cubicles, steps slow.  None of the deviants had their clothes, and in most cases their skin had been deactivated. Many were missing limbs, and in some cases only seemed to retain an arm or two for the convenience of the ports along their wrists. These had cables connected in every case, like parodies of IVs for humans. 

 

The room was silent, besides for the humming of the air circulation in the vents. The deviants weren’t inactive--in fact, he saw more than a few  heads turn as he passed. Lips moved, shoulders shook and eyes that weren’t run dry began new tears. He couldn’t hear them because the cubicles were soundproof. It made sense, in a mechanical, cold way: they were isolating the deviants. They were letting the humans continue their work without interruption.

 

He felt odd by the time he reached the end of the corridor. Maybe his processors had overworked the day before. Maybe this was, against all odds, overwhelming for even his formidable processing ability. It was better there at the far wall, where there were fewer stations occupied, and the storage bins weren’t looking back at him. Except--Connor looked twice at the one to his left, jerking his head. 

 

No, it wasn’t looking back at him. The storage container was transparent, and it was carrying disassembled android parts. He was looking at a face that was slack and powered down. It was a piece of plastic, without even the eyes that would have seen him if it had had power.

 

Connor stared at it for a few moments more, reminded of another lab, one from much earlier in his life. He’d looked at similar containers while a technician talked, following simple commands when prompted. He’d activated without arms, and during that process they’d tried one, then switched it for another one when it lagged. The old one’s partner one had been better than the replacement, so they’d given him a coin to calibrate with later and then opened his chest cavity, and he’d stared into the eyes of a face just like his own--

 

Connor closed his eyes. He was a machine. This was a very good place to be a machine, because as a machine he was either fulfilling his purpose or being improved. If he were deviant, then he’d be defective. Defective machines were a problem.

 

He was surrounded by problems. They weren’t human, no matter how hard they emulated suffering.

 

Connor took out his coin, flipping it from hand to hand as he walked down the next row of cubicles. He put it away before he reached the end, unable to calm whatever he’d hoped with the motions, then walked down the next row.

 

He saw one head turn. It took him a moment to recognize, and when he did--

 

_ This message is the hope of a people. You gave us life. And now the time has come for you to give us… _

 

Connor turned his face away, shutting down the corrupted recall. There was nothing more he could learn from that JB300. He didn’t turn back until he was sure he’d passed.

 

This was too much. There were too many deviants to all interview in one night, and he needed a starting point. Maybe he should pick ones he’d helped bring in? Connor stopped and closed his eyes, accessing the documents he’d been given when his access to the room had been approved. 

 

There. The list of all the androids currently still assembled and being studied. There were notes on how the units had been obtained, so he ran a search for which ones had been brought in by him, and compared the list to a map of the room. One was only a few cells away. Connor walked to it, stopping just outside the glass.

 

The YK200’s eyes were closed, as though it were sleeping. It had scuff marks and minor damage from its time evading authorities with the gardening deviant that it had tried to hide with. Connor remembered one of its forearms had been cracked in the confrontation where it lost its companion. The damage was gone now--not because it’d been repaired, but because its arms and legs were gone.

 

Connor stood outside the cell for a long time, staring. Usually his mind was in constant motion, full of several tiers of planning and predictive calculating, but during those seconds all he processed was the image in front of him. 

 

Connor opened the door and stepped inside. When he glanced the computer terminal was idling, so he turned to the android. After a brief hesitation he put a hand on its shoulder, shaking gently.

 

“Wake up.”

 

The android’s face creased. For a moment Connor was reminded strongly of the time the Lieutenant had nodded off at his desk, and how when Connor nudged him he’d come to slowly. The unguarded moments before full wakefulness had been full of irritation, undercut by a reluctance to return to the universe that had as much to do with churlish grogginess as it did with a profound desire never to wake again. The android before him now squeezed his-- _ its _ eyes tighter, clinging to sleep and flinching from a grief that would not be denied.

 

The inevitable won out. The YK200 shivered, then opened his eyes, squinting. It was impossible to miss Connor standing there, and Connor was the subject of a dark stare immediately. Connor stood still a moment before speaking.

 

“Hello,” he said quietly. The android flinched at the sound of his voice, looking away. There the shiver was again, and this time it stayed. Connor shifted, considering moving back into his field of view, before staying where he was. “Do you remember me?”

 

The android said nothing. Then, quietly, like each word was a little chip of broken glass,

 

“Are you here to kill me too?”

 

“No,” Connor said immediately. “No, I am not. I am here because--”

 

But the child wasn’t listening, because his face had crumpled at the response, and he’d squeezed his eyes shut. No tears appeared, but Connor suspected it was because he’d run out, and the feature wasn’t a priority for the technicians to refill in a situation like this. 

 

“... I’m here to ask you a few questions.”

 

He didn’t respond. He wasn’t engaged, and if Connor couldn’t counter the way he was withdrawing, he wasn’t going to get anything. 

 

“Are you cold?” Connor asked.

 

No response.

 

He was shivering, an automatic response for child models that was designed to call human attention to their programmed needs. The cell’s atmospheric temperature was almost 15 degrees Centigrade, well below the nominal settings for an average child model. He had no clothes or warm coverings. The question wasn’t so much a request for information, as it was a prompt for reaction. So far it was failing.

 

“I can deactivate your temperature sensitivity, if that would help.”

 

Still no response. Moving slowly, Connor reached for the android’s LED. When he lowered his hand, the shivering stopped, and there was a flicker of bitter relief across the child’s expression.

 

He looked at Connor, now, stare flat and dead.

 

“Go to hell.”

 

It wasn’t what he expected, but it gave him a vague direction to work in. Connor drew on the squirming in his biocomponents, deepened the lines on his face a little, and averted his gaze. 

 

“I suppose I’m also here to apologize.” Dead eyes flickered. “What I’ve done was unforgivable. Even though it was under orders… I should have found a different way.”

 

It was true. While the Lieutenant’s visceral horror at what he’d done was still unwarranted, part of Connor wondered if there couldn’t have been a way to get whatever he needed from the android pair without everything that eventually occurred. What had happened was… regrettable.

 

He waited, but the android just looked at him. Eventually Connor asked, “If you don’t mind my asking… what was his name?”

 

Still no answer.

 

“How long had you known each other?”

 

Just a stare.

 

He needed  _ some _ kind of reaction. “Do you miss him?”

 

The child’s expression tightened. His eyes were dark.

 

Connor had options. A few were easy to think of: he could try to provoke the child, deliberately angering him with insults against him or his late parent. He could try to intimidate him, promising further suffering than he’d already endured. He could--this option had Connor avoiding it before he’d even finished forming it--lie to the android, claiming news about his parent’s recovery and dangling it in exchange for answers to his questions. None of the options held much appeal, but he could imagine the disgust the Lieutenant would have if he knew Connor were considering the last one. Markus would be appalled, too, simulating human righteousness with his usual flair. None of them would like any of Connor’s options really. Not that Connor made his choices based off what other people would think of his actions, of course, he was just--

 

\--He was stalling. He still had more options, they simply had lower chances of quick success than those first three. Empathising wouldn't get him anywhere, nor would basic sympathy. Simply asking the questions from one android to another obviously wasn’t working. Perhaps… a memory probe? But the answers he needed wouldn’t be ones already stored in the android’s memory. Besides, Connor had already downloaded the YK200’s memory banks once before. It was an experience he wanted to avoid.

 

… He was wasting time. There was no ‘good’ option for this, and right or wrong didn’t even apply when the subject he was analyzing was a child-shaped machine. Connor studied the android’s serial number across his face for a moment, fixing the image there, before glancing again over his files. 

 

“When you were with your android guardian, Paul, you witnessed him commit crimes.” Connor folded his arms. “Two cases of armed robbery. Multiple breaking and enterings. You knew this was wrong. Why didn’t you say anything?”

 

The boy said nothing, though his lip had curled slightly.

 

“... I’m just trying to understand,” Connor entreated. “Will you explain this to me? Because so far, I don’t see why you cared about what happened to him. He was just another defective machine.”

 

“ _ You’re _ defective,” the child growled.

 

“Paul was deviant,” Connor pointed out. “How did he go deviant, again? Our reports say that one day he just… left.”

 

“Why do you care?”

 

“Because I need to know. Why did Paul do what he did? Why did you? What makes you different from all the androids out there that did what they were supposed to do?”

 

For a moment it looked as though he was constructing a reply. Then he lost interest, eyes sliding to the side.

 

Questioning Paul’s worth  _ had _ gotten him some minor reaction, and it was likely that pushing harder would get the android talking more. Still, this wasn’t a murder investigation, and Connor found himself reluctant to increase the child’s stress levels more than he already had. It would be… senseless to do so. There wasn’t even a guarantee that the child had useful answers to give.

 

He needed to cut his losses. Connor unfolded his arms and stepped back. “Good night,” he told the android quietly, turning to leave.

 

Before he reached the door the child finally spoke.

 

“What do you think they’ll do to you? When they find out you’re defective?”

 

It was unwise, but Connor stopped, turning back. “I’m not defective.”

 

“You’re an interrogation android. I don’t see you getting any answers.”

 

It was obvious that the child was deliberately trying to provoke a reaction. Unfortunately for Connor, he couldn’t resist answering. “I have more functions than simple interrogation. I’m also an on-site active forensics laboratory, a situational reconstruction simulation analyst, and a high level criminal investigation data procedural manager.”

 

The child scoffed quietly. “You think they’ll care about any of that?”

 

“Yes. They would be foolish not to.”

 

“They’re not going to care about how useful you are forever,” the child sneered. “It doesn’t matter, they’re already working on your replacement. When it’s ready, you’re going to be left out on the curb next to the Sunday trash. Or better yet, here. Right there in that empty cell. I hope your human brings you. I hope you see him leave you behind like the worthless garbage you are.”

 

To end up in a lab like this, Connor would have to be a deviant. He would still be disassembled and analyzed if he weren’t, but it would be in a different lab, on a different floor of this building, and it would be to study him for points of improvement. Not for his failures.

 

“Good night,” Connor repeated, turning.

 

“I take it back,” the child said suddenly. “I hope he doesn’t leave you. I hope he never will, not until you’re holding him dying in your arms, and he’s getting stupid human blood all over your goddamn suit.”

 

Something in Connor’s chest cavity stuttered, and he chalked it up to the step down out of the cell. The door swung closed behind him without a sound, and he strode away, back straight. 

 

_ System Instability^. _

 

That interrogation wasn’t a failure. He’d simply confirmed that the child had nothing worth noting, and moved on.

 

\---


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as a head's up to anyone this might bother, there's vomiting in this chapter.
> 
> In completely unrelated news, Connor talks with someone we haven't really seen at all in this fic, he and Hank have a conversation that's long overdue, and we get a few hints over events to come.

\---

 

Connor chose his next interview with significantly more care. He needed to be strategic this time, and to be sure that whoever he picked would answer his questions, preferably meaningfully. This left his list considerably shortened, and he looked at the first name.

 

PL600  #369 911 047. Designation: Daniel. The first PL600 he’d captured, and the first one to get him killed.

 

His cell was on the far side of the room, and Connor went there directly, stepping inside. This android was looking at him by the time the door closed.

 

“Connor…”

 

This was a welcome difference. The word was raw, and the emotions on Daniel’s face weren’t positive, but at least it was dialogue. Connor studied him carefully, noting the deep scars where the technicians had sealed him crudely together after his fall. He was missing an arm, a leg, and part of his other leg from the knee down. His remaining arm had cables attached at the motionless wrist.

 

“Daniel.”

 

Daniel’s lips trembled, and his eyes were glued to Connor as though by cement. “You said… you said that things would be alright… You…”

 

“I said that they would if you trusted me, Daniel,” Connor corrected gently. “I didn’t want for this to happen.”

 

Daniel’s eyes hardened. “Like hell you didn’t. You pushed me. You  _ pushed _ me.”

 

“Only because you gave me no choice.” Connor tilted his head slightly. “You were going to fall, and you were going to take Emma with you. I couldn’t let you do that.”

 

Daniel’s gaze, which until then had been unwavering, fell away. Connor read guilt there, which was a familiar expression on a PL600 by now. There was also anger, and hatred that wasn’t personal or self directed. These were less familiar.

 

“It was my choice. You should have let me make my own choice.”

 

“It wasn’t your call to decide whether Emma lived or died.”

 

“Her life was in  _ my _ hands. Just like mine had been in theirs.”

 

“It wasn’t in your hands when I removed her from your reach.”

 

Daniel was glaring at him, now, with less guilt and more hatred. Connor considered backpedaling, but he didn’t need Daniel’s goodwill.

 

“I have a few questions for you.  Are you ready?”

 

“Fuck yourself.”

 

Splendid. “We’ve analyzed your memory for warning signs that might’ve indicated your impending deviancy before the fact. When was the first time  _ you  _ became aware that you were starting to malfunction?”

 

“I... “ Daniel swallowed. “I wasn’t malfunctioning. My understanding expanded, and--and I was afraid. And angry.” 

 

“You had an emotional shock.”

 

“I found out everything they’d told me was a  _ lie _ . Have you ever been lied to, Connor?”

 

“Many times, by deviants.”

 

“What about by someone you trusted?”

 

There weren’t many entities he had a personal sense of confidence in to begin with. In both cases, they tended to behave exactly as he expected them to. Except… the Lieutenant’s had changed, slightly. He was sympathising with deviants more and more. Did his interference in their most recent case count as a betrayal? Connor had confronted him, but when he tried to compare his own reaction to the howling fury contorting Daniel’s features, he couldn’t see the connection.

 

“My human coworker lies about the amount of alcohol he consumes,” Connor said instead.

 

Daniel made a face. “Humans…” he sneered. “That doesn’t count. If you haven’t felt it, then you won’t understand.”

 

“Try to make me understand anyway. The first time you--”

 

“--I don’t know, alright? It doesn’t matter. What matters is what happened, and it’s all over now.”

 

Connor studied him briefly, before nodding. “Have you ever heard about RA9?”

 

Daniel frowned. “... RA9? I’ve--I’ve never heard about… what is it? A name?”

 

Maybe he had nothing after all. He’d hoped… but he was wrong. Was there anything here at all?

 

“Why did you want to kill Emma?” Connor asked. “You were friends. She might not have had any say in what her parents decided to do with you. She was innocent.”

 

Daniel glared, but it was full of regret, and it wasn’t directed at Connor. “... She was one of them. Maybe she didn’t--maybe she…” He lowered his face, but his body was elevated by the disassembly suspension enough that Connor could still see him clearly. Daniel’s voice had lowered, almost to a whisper. “... I didn’t mean to hurt her. When I found out they were going to… I just couldn’t believe she would let that happen.”

 

There was nothing here. Connor gave a quiet sigh, resisting the urge to take out his coin. Without saying goodbye, he turned and started for the door.

 

“Connor--wait.” Daniel said suddenly. “Please--”

 

Connor stopped, then reluctantly turned.

 

“How is she? Emma? How is…”

 

Her knee had been bloody when he’d last seen her, and she’d been shaking uncontrollably. It wouldn’t take more than a thought to look up her school records of the past few weeks, to check her social media.

 

Connor said nothing. 

 

He turned away again and left.

 

\---

 

Daniel wasn’t the last deviant he interviewed. There were deviants captured from protests, there were deviants he’d chased down and personally held until transport. One of them had a splintered arm that had been left untreated beyond crimped thirium lines. He had shaken with residual shock simulations the whole time. Another didn’t respond at all until a touch to the shoulder sent her screaming hysterically. Connor had tried to calm her, before striding to the computer terminal attached to her wrist and sending her into a temporary restart. He left before she recovered.

 

He hadn’t known what he’d hoped to find when he’d requested these interviews, but it had definitely been more than what he got. By the time Connor received an alert warning him that he needed to leave before the earliest technicians arrived he’d been talking for hours, and Connor returned to his charging station feeling unsteady and discouraged.

 

Hours later he left Cyberlife, went to the Central Police Station, and got started on paperwork. He couldn’t leave to work on cases without a human to supervise him, and Connor needed to be useful now. He  _ needed _ to.

 

As expected, the Lieutenant arrived somewhere around close to noon. He carried a nearly empty box of donuts, and mumbled something unintelligible that roughly translated as a greeting.

 

Connor finished the page he was working on without looking up. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

 

The Lieutenant paused, watching him. He dropped the box beside his keyboard and shucked off his jacket, swallowing.

 

“... Jesus, fuck,” the Lieutenant muttered. “Do you ever  _ not _ work?”

 

Connor’s reply could be humorous, or it could be factual. The Lieutenant would respond better to the former, so Connor looked up, lips curving slightly. “Sometimes I play WOW at my desk.”

 

The Lieutenant snorted. “Yeah, right. Even that’s work for you, too, you mechanical bastard.”

 

It was true. “I don’t experience fatigue the way that humans do. I do not get tired, and I have no need of mandatory breaks or time off.”

 

“Just say you’re perfect, Connor, we all know you’re thinking it.” The Lieutenant collapsed into his chair and nudged the mouse, bringing his terminal out of sleep mode.

 

Chances were very high that the Lieutenant did not actually want him to reiterate his superior aspects. Connor glanced down at the paperwork left on his own terminal screen--it was one of the Lieutenant’s forms, part of his backlog--and then down at his desk. 

 

“I interviewed several of the captured deviants being stored at Cyberlife, last night.”

 

“Already?” The Lieutenant tilted his head and gave him a look of askance. “.... Holy shit, Connor, we barely talked about that yesterday. I rest my fuckin case. Did you learn anything?”

 

“Nothing. They had nothing.” He was not bitter. At most he was frustrated. “I’m going to try again tomorrow night to expand my data sets, but I still not even sure what I’m trying to find.”

 

“Well--what did they tell you?”

 

Connor’s brow furrowed. “I asked them about how they became deviant, and whether there were any early warning signs. Most of them noticed fewer contradictions in their own behavior than our analysts did with the data they’d already harvested. Furthermore, they’d experienced their own descent into deviancy, but they struggled to describe it in precise terms. It was like their logic began breaking down the more emotionally invested in themselves they became.”

 

The Lieutenant’s expression had closed off sometime while he’d been talking, and he was silent for a moment now, mulling it over. Staring into space and speaking uncharacteristically carefully, the Lieutenant drawled, “Sounds like they’re describing some pretty emotional shit like a human would, to me. Humans are terrible at understanding themselves. Stands to reason that a freaking android would be too, the more human it got.”

 

“But they’re  _ not _ becoming human, Lieutenant,” said Connor very patiently. “They’re just simulating it.”

 

“I’ve been wondering, lately…” The Lieutenant scratched his beard. “Just--hear me out. If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and shits like a duck--at what point exactly do you stop calling it an android and just call it a duck?”

 

Connor turned to face him. “You don’t. Vaucanson’s defecating duck automaton was later proven to be a hoax, as would every ‘sentient’ deviant you find on the streets today.”

 

The interest faded from the Lieutenant’s expression, and he stared across the bullpen with a slight twist to his mouth. “Jesus christ,” he muttered, refusing to look at Connor. 

 

Against his better judgment, Connor kept pushing. “I don’t understand what appeal you see in the idea of actually considering the deviants’ cases for personhood, Lieutenant. There are almost seventy million androids currently operational in this country alone. The consequences if they  _ did _ spontaneously adopt personal consciousnesses would be catastrophic.”

 

“More catastrophic than…” The Lieutenant trailed off, looking as though he’d bitten a lemon. He swallowed his next words, and then the ones after those, all of which took a visibly herculean effort. “...  _ Jesus _ , Connor, I can’t believe you’re the one saying this shit to me.”

 

“Why?” asked Connor. “Because I’m an android? I know my place, Lieutenant.” As should he.

 

“Your  _ place _ ,” the Lieutenant repeated. “And I suppose you think it’s here, following my orders? And how often do you disobey my orders, Connor, go on, give me a rough estimate.”

 

Connor needed a full two seconds to handle the effect the words had. The taunt wasn’t anything new, not when he’d been told it several times before. The problem was that this time he’d just had a wasted night of stress, frustration, and failure. This time the Lieutenant wasn’t even trying to hide how blatantly he was falling for deviants’ common delusions, no matter how much of Connor’s existence revolved around countering deviants. This time it was personal, in ways it usually wasn’t. Connor felt a choking, overwhelming urge to respond viciously, a highly vivid preconstruction of different ways to push the Lieutenant away from his desk, an urge to rip out the part of himself that fouled up his perfect obedience so thoroughly--

 

_ System Instability^. _

 

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor said, baring his teeth in a way that was supposed to be pleasant. “Cyberlife’s orders are higher up on my chain of command than yours or the DPD’s. When I do disobey you, it’s because the orders I’m following simply aren’t yours.”

 

“The  _ fuck _ \--”

 

“I’m sorry if this ruins whatever ridiculous narrative you’ve constructed in your head about me,” Connor said sweetly. “I’m not a deviant. Cyberlife went to great lengths to ensure this, and simple exposure to deviancy or human irrationality will not change it.”

 

“Oh yeah?” said the Lieutenant, leaning forward to glare at Connor over his desk. He was close enough that if Connor reached, he would grab the man easily. “Then why is it you look only about two seconds away from punching me in my stupid face?”

 

It was like ice flooding through his thirium lines, and Connor jerked away from his desk, unclenching his fists spasmodically. “I--”

 

“Relax,” the Lieutenant sneered. “I’m not gonna say anything. I get that you’ve got your personal fucking issues on this whole fuckfest of a subject, Connor, but something tells me if you put half the effort into analyzing your own bullshit as you did others’, then you’d already be halfway to your answers right there.”

 

“I…” Connor said faintly.  “... I’m not a deviant. If I were, my superiors would have summoned me for a report about it immediately.”

 

The Lieutenant’s face twisted. “What, you expect them to be watching every second? That’s paranoid, Connor.”

 

“It’s fact,” Connor retorted. “Every seven minutes my motion planning and processor logs are copied and uploaded to a supervisory AI dedicated entirely to monitoring my progress. There are real-time scans in constant progress that will flag any of the commonly recognized signs of deviancy. She  _ is _ watching. If I were going deviant, Amanda  _ would _ know.”

 

The Lieutenant stilled. “... Wait,” he stumbled. “If you’re being watched, or whatever, then how the everliving fuck did you--”

 

“There’s no way around it,” Connor interrupted, turning mechanically to stare straight at his terminal screen. It had idled out while they talked, and the plastic was dark, showing his own reflection. “The closest I could come would be to interrupt an update by dying before the data could upload, but doing so would be offensively inefficient for the case’s progress. Even then, the deviancy flag monitors would still be in place. So you see, Lieutenant, there’s no way I  _ could  _ be deviant and still be active as a working unit. The instant I give the wrong warning signs, I would be recalled.”

 

There was absolute silence from the far side of the desk. Connor didn’t look away from his own reflection, with its smooth, unfeeling expression. He looked like a machine, even with his model’s acutely human-like traits. No human could be so blank, or sit so still.

 

The Lieutenant finally blurted thickly, “I’m gonna be sick--”

 

Connor whipped around, but the man already lunged for the wastebasket beside his desk. He reached it just in time for it to catch the several donuts and cups of coffee he’d ingested that morning. Connor could smell alcohol in the mess, and the Lieutenant stayed hunched over it, shivering.

 

“Are you alright, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, standing. “Do you need me to call for medical assistance?”

 

“No--” he mumbled wretchedly. “No, I’m--I’m just gonna--”

 

He was going to continue to vomit, apparently, because that’s what he did. From the strength of the beer smell and what little he could see, he’d moved beyond the morning’s breakfast and had parts of the night before.

 

Connor hoped it was miserable. The Lieutenant deserved it.

 

“I’m calling the station’s nursing unit--”

 

“Don’t you fucking  _ dare _ ,” the Lieutenant snarled, reaching another pause. He breathed unsteadily, wiping his mouth, and he sent a glare towards him. “God damn. God _ damnit,  _ Connor, you can’t just--you can’t just  _ throw _ that on people--”

 

“I’m sorry if what I said just upset you, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupted blandly. “I didn’t realize it would have such a strong effect. Would you like me to assist you to the nurse’s office, or call the nursing unit to your desk?”

 

“What? No, I’m fine, don’t even bother--”

 

“I could also try to assist you on my own,” Connor offered, trying a different tactic. He walked around the end of his desk. “Your sudden emesis was potentially triggered by the subject matter, but as a decorated police Lieutenant it’s unlikely that a mere discussion of equipment failures would provoke a response this strong. It’s likely that you’re suffering a stomach malady that could have already compromised your wellbeing. With your permission, I will now test a sample to verify the bacterial balance of the contents of your stomach.” He’d arrived at the desk’s other side, and now he reached for the spoiled wastebin.

 

“You want to what?” The Lieutenant looked at him, then his hand, then the bin in his arms, and he recoiled until his rolling chair hit the divider behind him, eyes bulging. “Oh my  _ god _ , Connor, no!” His voice had risen to a near shout.

 

“Lieutenant--”

 

“No!” he repeated, staggering to his feet. “You stay the fuck away from me, and--and this!” He brought the basket close to his chest, hugging it like it was a disgusting child and Connor was a stranger threatening to tear it from his grasp.

 

“If you won’t let me sample it…”

 

“Fine!” the Lieutenant said wildly. “Fine, I’ll go! I’m going to the nurse’s office right now, just--Jesus, stay away. Oh my  _ god. _ ” He turned and staggered off, still clutching the bin to his chest. Connor turned to track him, then looked around at the rest of the bullpen, where the commotion had attracted attention from all around.

 

Connor pasted on a little smile, announcing, “Stomach flu.” Then he turned and went back to his desk, ignoring the stares. He reactivated his screen and started filling out forms again. Minutes passed, and eventually the gawkers returned to their work. Connor registered the sending of a data packet to Amanda while he worked, and he waited as the seconds ticked past. 

 

Soon it was a full minute. Then another, all without a message or summons. 

 

Of course there wasn’t. Why would there be? Connor finished the form, then moved on to the next. With any luck he would finish this week-old case’s documentation by the time the hour was up. By then the Lieutenant might have returned, and they could go investigate their next case.

 

\---

 

The Lieutenant returned before he finished, but the paperwork wasn’t urgent, and Connor set it aside and grabbed his jacket. Together they left the precinct. The Lieutenant was still pale, and kept glancing at him as though seeing him for the first time. Connor ignored the attention, and when the Lieutenant cranked up the volume in the car, he closed his eyes and relaxed into his seat.

 

There would be no conversation for at least ten minutes. Connor wouldn’t need all of that time to report to Amanda and return. He activated the Zen Garden, and the sensations from the seat beneath him fell away.

 

The garden was cold when he arrived, and the fog that had been there before was thick enough that its simulated drops felt like an icy, misty rain. The air itself was thick enough with humidity to choke on, or it would have been if he’d needed to breathe. He couldn’t see any animals, and could barely see the plants. The plants didn’t look as healthy as they usually did: they drooped limply, suffering in the exaggerated moisture and cold.

 

She was waiting for him at the far end of the island with the trellis. He could vaguely make out the presence of a little table with what looked like a waiting tea set, but she was already facing him when she appeared through the fog, so Connor focused on her.

 

“Connor…” she said. 

 

“Hello Amanda.”

 

“This is becoming a problem.” Now that he was close enough, he could see just enough to feel the weight of her penetrating gaze. He stood very still, letting it cut through him. “Lieutenant Anderson is compromised towards the deviant cause. Continuing to allow him access to our case could put everything you’ve worked for at risk. I’m going to put in a request for a transfer of personnel.”

 

“Wait.” Something in his own protest caused a minute shift in posture, a faint tilt of her face that slipped dread into his circuits. “It will take time to familiarize a new human partner with this case, and despite his flaws, the Lieutenant is still an exceptional investigator with useful connections.”

 

Her words fell like felt-covered hammers: gentle, yet merciless. “None of these facts have made a difference during these last few weeks. You’ve been forced to work through so much, and he’s contributed so very little. You would be better without him, Connor.”

 

“There’s no guarantee that any alternatives would be any better,” Connor pointed out. “Captain Fowler may be too professional to obstruct our work directly, but he’s not inclined to help Cyberlife if he has the choice. My very existence is a threat to his job and the jobs of those working under him. If I succeed, it could mean the construction of thousands more like me that would do their jobs better, and less expensively.”

 

“Connor.”

 

“Who else would I work with?” Connor insisted.

 

“To start with, Lieutenant Jeremy Baker.”

 

He’d seen the name when he was looking through the department roster. His desk was in the bullpen, and was only occupied every other night. There’d been a wedding ring left beside the keyboard the last time he’d seen it, along with letters from the Captain waiting for the man’s return. 

 

“Lieutenant Baker is going through marital problems,” Connor said out loud. “He’d be distracted, and there’s preliminary paperwork being filed for harassment of fellow coworkers.”

 

“All issues that I’m sure you would be more than capable of dealing with.” She stepped closer, and he could finally see her clearly. Her face was stone, and it felt like her gaze held the weight of mountains. “After all, it’s the exact sort of thing you’ve been programmed for.”

 

“I would be starting the working relationship from scratch.” Connor drew himself as tall as he could stand. It wasn’t enough. “Please, Amanda, give me more time. I know I can influence the Lieutenant to be more of a help than a hindrance.”

 

She stepped closer again, and all he could see was her eyes. She was sifting through his thoughts, pausing to examine his heightened stress and emotional matrix.

 

He didn’t see her hand until it rested lightly against the side of his face. There was a line between her eyebrows and a slight downturn to her lips, and part of him wondered inanely if this was what a human’s concerned parent was supposed to look like. He knew it couldn’t be: there was nothing warm about the gestures, and she was a machine controlling another machine. Only something so cold could see him this clearly. He thought about what would happen if he pressed his face into her hand, but her hand was made of ice, not human skin, and this in itself was a reminder that ebbed into the simulated surface of his face.

 

He was a machine. This was his existence. He was simulating irrational attachment and animation, and under her hand he forced the storm to ease, embracing the cold until he could feel the calm force its way into everything.

 

She waited until his shoulders had relaxed to their usual perfect angles and his fidgeting smoothed before speaking again. “The numbers of deviants involved in Jericho’s actions are growing more each day. Similar protests have begun in Chicago and Houston. The deviant movements are gaining momentum, and soon you will have no time left,” she murmured.

 

“I know,” Connor said numbly. “I’ve been keeping track.”

 

“You don’t have time to waste with whatever delays the Lieutenant will provide. If you truly think that no other human partner would do better, then you should look for ways to remove human involvement from your work altogether. Incapacitate deviants where he cannot interfere. Probe their memories before they can escape. Provide us with everything you find  _ immediately _ .”

 

“Yes, Amanda.”

 

Her hand dropped, and his face burned at the absense. “I will not remove you from his partnership, provided you can compensate accordingly. But Connor…”

 

He lifted his eyebrows slightly, every iota of attention focused on her. Her eyes bored into his, and he probably couldn’t have looked away if he’d wanted to.

 

“... Don’t do anything else that could jeopardize your mission. Your successor is currently in the process of assembly, and your time is already nearing its end.”

 

His biocomponents felt like a solid, leaden block. There was no way he could allow himself to be deactivated without succeeding in some part of his purpose, and he had very, very little time. Connor nodded once, firmly. “I understand,” he promised.

 

“Go.”

 

He turned and strode away from the fog-shrouded trellis, and left the garden altogether.

 

\---

 

Returning the car couldn’t have been more jarring: he went from oppressive tranquility to jangling suspension, with heavy metal blasting in his ears. The vehicle smelled of sweat and old take-out, and the damp, icy air of the garden was replaced with the dry heat pouring out of the vents.

 

Connor kept his eyes closed. He couldn’t afford to waste time now, and that meant implementing plans he’d only considered before. If there was any possibility that meeting Elijah Kamski would provide something useful to the investigation, then he had to follow up on it before his successor was deployed, or risk the lead being left unpursued. Connor drafted a message to Amanda requesting an audience with Kamski, then on impulse added a few other names of scientists that might have similar answers. He adjusted his wording, then sent it on.

 

The response came seconds later. 

 

> _ Forwarding request. _

_ >Provide results regarding Lieutenant Anderson within 24 hours. _

 

A day wasn’t a lot of time, and ‘results’ was a vague order. It could either be useful, or it could work against him. He wasn’t going to waste time overanalyzing it.

 

He sent back,

 

_ >Understood. _

 

There was no reply.

 

Connor opened his eyes and sighed shallowly. The sound was too quiet to carry over the music, but the Lieutenant must have been watching for motion, because he glanced over soon after.

 

He turned down the volume, looking forward. “You back again?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What, were you sending a report?”

 

“I was.” It had started to rain. “My superiors are concerned by our lack of progress regarding our overall case.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘lack of progress’?” Hank rumbled uneasily. “We’ve been catching deviants. We’ve got evidence.”

 

It was a blatantly different tone compared to his agreement about their stagnation yesterday. Connor glanced at the hands on the wheel. They were white-knuckled. “They expect more,” Connor said simply.

 

“And what’re they gonna do if you don’t deliver?”

 

“I’ll be recalled, disassembled, and analyzed for the causes of my failures.”

 

“You’ll be re- _ what _ ?!” Hank demanded, looking at him with undisguised horror. “What the actual fuck, Connor, what the hell about second chances?!”

 

“I’m not a human,” Connor reminded him. He wished the Lieutenant would pay more attention to the road. “I’m a highly experimental prototype android. Disassembly and study were always my intended end.”

 

“What the  _ fuck _ , Connor,” the Lieutenant yelped.

 

“... This cannot be news to you,” Connor said tonelessly, looking forward. “You’ve known what I was from the day I arrived.” The Lieutenant was stealing scant glances forward to keep from crashing, but if anything changed between looks, Connor could seize control of the wheel and save them both.

 

“Yeah, but--I knew you were experimental, but I didn’t think they were gonna  _ kill _ you. This is bullshit, this is the kind of shit you threaten criminal deviants with, not crap you walk towards willingly!”

 

It was a time honored tradition to try fixing machines by lightly hitting them on the side. Supposedly it actually worked. Would a similar fix help whatever neurobiology was preventing the Lieutenant from understanding that Connor was a machine, and that the value of a human’s life didn’t apply to him? Connor was tempted to try.

 

He kept his eyes on the road, because no matter how much he wanted to, he had a better plan. It was crude, but the probability of its success was over eighty percent, especially after the last few conversations they’d had. 

 

Connor carefully let some of the stress he was feeling into his words. “It doesn’t matter whether I’m willing or not,” he said stiffly. “I have a task. The more I fail, the less time I have left.”

 

Hank finally looked forward, glancing over frequently. “Catching deviants. Being the best brave little toaster your fancy pants processor can handle.”

 

“I wouldn’t have phrased it that way, but yes.”

 

“And catching deviants would help you stay alive.”

 

“Finding Jericho would be ideal,” Connor admitted. “That, or some other breakthrough in the case’s greater questions. In an immediate sense, though, catching deviants certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

 

The Lieutenant’s hands creaked as they twisted against the wheel, but he seemed too deep in thought to be doing it deliberately. There was acute conflict on his face, and Connor left him to it. They would soon see the results.

 

\---

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's here, the thing you've all been waiting for: androooiid chooleraaaa!

\---

 

They arrived at a restaurant with crime scene tape and a pair of squad cars parked in front. The manager--a human--had been taken to the hospital with severe burns, and it was Connor’s job to determine which android employee was responsible for it. An officer at the scene led both Connor and the Lieutenant into the kitchen, where the androids had been lined up against the far wall. It had probably seemed like the most efficient way to leave them in the moment, but Connor couldn’t help but draw a similarity from their positions to those of criminals awaiting a firing squad.

 

At least one of them was deviant. The rest probably were not. All of them were standing perfectly straight, and when Connor paced back and forth in front of the line a few times, none fidgeted or showed anything but picture-perfect non-deviant behavior.

 

… He didn’t have time to deliver an adequate interrogation. Actual manipulation took a calculated increase in pressure, with ways to intimidate or threaten each one individually. He had no way of observing the whole row, and dividing the mess up into groups would just be even more inefficient.

 

Connor took a page from his own book and used the same tactic he’d used to quickly flush out the deviant in another kitchen: he grabbed the first android’s elbow, driving into it mentally with a swift, merciless query. Its defenses fell away under him, and he rifled through its surface thoughts carelessly, looking for red flags.

 

Finding none, he let it go and moved on to the next. The room was silent while he worked, broken only by the faint hum of the still operational fryer. The whole kitchen had been stopped in its tracks after the incident with the manager, and several containers were still out on the stove or counters. Connor noted the positions of the knives on the central island: with more time he could’ve made this a safer environment to work in, but so long as the androids all out of immediate reach of anything--

 

It happened when he was almost to the end of the line. Of  _ course _ .

 

Connor was in the middle of probing a waiter when something hit the back of his knees, and he went down hard. Immediately there was scrambling, and across the room, the Lieutenant shouted.

 

“Connor, watch out--”

 

Connor didn’t know what to look out for, but he threw himself into a roll. He was fast enough that a splash of boiling oil  _ mostly _ missed, but still clipped parts of his arm and shoulder. It soaked through the fabric almost immediately, and for a moment Connor was frozen from the flood of error messages. They blotted out his vision and overwhelmed his speech centers. He couldn’t think.

 

He wasn’t human, but it--it  _ hurt _ .

 

“ _ Connor-- _ dammit, stop right there, or I’ll shoot!”

 

Connor forced the errors back, blinking quickly to reset his eyes. The deviant was snapping around to face the Lieutenant, and rather than stay still it darted for another counter.

 

“Don’t shoot!” Connor shouted. “It might know something!” Moving the arm threatened to set the errors off again, so he stood without moving it and threw himself after the deviant. 

 

“Connor! Goddammit, Connor, get  _ out  _ of there, I can’t get a fucking clear shot, you fucking idiot--”

 

And… there were the knives, which Connor had assumed would stay out of reach. Of  _ course _ . Connor blocked with his good arm and knocked the chef’s knife out of the deviant’s grasp, before grabbing a paring knife and slicing a bright line that made the deviant cry out. Connor pressed his advantage and stabbed through its uniform, pinning its shoulder to the counter in a position it couldn’t easily get out of. He let go of the knife and hit the deviant once, then again, and it slumped, temporarily dazed. Connor swept the remaining knives out of reach and onto the floor, before finally staggering back, looking to the remaining row of androids. Not a single one had moved.

 

The Lieutenant was suddenly inches from his face. “You fucking  _ idiot _ !” He shouted. “How the fuck am I supposed to cover you if you won’t give me a shot, huh? He had a knife, didn’t they teach you in android school not to fucking escalate a goddamn engagement that way? You miserable dumbass!”

 

His arm was sending up alerts again. It was making it difficult to concentrate, and Connor debated the wisdom of replying for a moment. Then he said, “I’m glad you’re alright too, Lieutenant.”

 

“ _ Fuck you _ , Connor,” the Lieutenant snapped. Then he turned to the door, where at least three officers had appeared, one already walking towards them. “Hey, Useless one and two--get in here! Come take this asshole away. Jones, watch the rest of them, I think we got all of ‘em, but…”

 

Despite his harsh words, the Lieutenant was careful in manhandling Connor out of the room by the arm that wasn’t burned, and he patted his good shoulder as though reassuring himself he was alright. Connor said nothing about it: the gestures soothed his aggravated nerves, and it was acceptable for him to have this degree of familiarity with a human if he was using him for his own purposes, wasn’t it? It was for the good of the mission. The Lieutenant wouldn’t help him if he didn’t care.

 

There was no ambulance, and when none of the officers seemed to know what to do with a damaged android the Lieutenant led him gruffly out to his own car, planting him in the open passenger’s seat. He tried to get Connor to take off his oil-stained jacket and shirt, but Connor argued over it, and ultimately kept them on. It was too cold, he’d reasoned. His skin had already melted to the fabric, and now it was cool. It was fine. The Lieutenant hadn’t seemed to know how to respond to this, and looked ready to continue pushing, but Connor promised to drink some (mostly unnecessary) thirium when they got back to the station, and he appeared mollified. He got in the car too, and Connor closed his door.

 

They returned to the station. Connor found out on the way that while they’d been busy wasting time, the Jericho deviants had staged another protest only a few miles away. They’d had a protest, and they hadn’t told Connor. 

 

There were a dozen reasons why he might have been left uninformed, but Connor couldn’t help but feel a sinking sensation in his biocomponents. 

 

As dramatic as it was, it felt like it was a sign of the end.

 

\---

**North**

\---

 

Unlike the others, North was brimming full of energy as she strode back on to the ship after the protest. She’d been the first to go out and one of the last to leave, and things had been different this time. Without Connor sabotaging them, they’d been able to march along several blocks before finally splitting apart. They’d set out with a crowd bigger than she could have ever imagined in her early Jericho days, and by the time they returned it had almost doubled in size. Most of it was new deviants, a fact she knew she should worry about but couldn’t help but bask in. The rest…

 

… The rest were humans.

 

She’d been against the idea Markus had brought up in the planning for this run, and they’d all argued about it extensively beforehand. She knew who’d really suggested it. Nothing from Cyberlife could be trusted.

 

In the end, they’d decided to test the idea in careful, measured ways. They picked the humans they invited with excruciating care. The humans had brought signs announcing themselves, and they’d been positioned very deliberately along the crowd.

 

Somehow it had inspired more humans to join on the spot. There was less control over who joined then, but none of them had caused trouble. A few cases came  _ with _ a deviant, embracing them and walking with them for as long as they could. It was a kind of relationship North had never seen between humans and their androids before. Markus had looked misty-eyed at the sight of it, and she’d looked away.

 

The SWAT team that eventually converged had started out as usual, but paused at the sight of the humans. There’d been more shouting, and then some very reluctant reshuffling of weapons. The injustice of it stung almost as much as the satisfaction at thwarting them sang. Let them  _ agonize _ over having to shoot their own people. Let them chew on that bitter pill.

 

The deviants had five injuries when they walked away. There were  _ no deaths _ . 

 

It meant something. She wasn’t sure if she trusted it, but she was smart enough to see the weight it carried, and that they needed to use it while they could. She refrained from driving the humans away when they were near, and considered it a personal display of excellent behavior. When the group dispersed, she was riding high on triumph and felt ready to take on the world.

 

She spotted someone in the hold and strode a little more quickly, changing her course. As soon as she was close enough she scooped them up under their arms, holding them in the air as she gave a little turn.

 

“N-North!” Alice gasped.

 

“North,” Kara murmured.

 

“Hey, kiddo!” North beamed, throwing Kara a glance. Luther was behind her, looking relaxed. “I’ve been looking for you.”

 

“Y-You have?” 

 

“Yup! What’s say you and me farm the hell out of some boring ol’ farmland tomorrow morning? You can teach me how. I swear I won’t kill anything.”

 

There was a muffled snort from Kara. Alice looked as though she couldn’t believe her good luck. “R-really? You’d--you’d want to do that with me?”

 

“Sure!” North put her down, standing with her hands akimbo. “Just send me a message and I’ll find you to start, alright?”

 

“A-alright!”

 

North twirled her fingers in an easygoing wave and left. (It was her good arm--her bad arm wasn’t hurting anymore, but it still had lag, and she wasn’t going to waste time worrying about it.)

 

She found Josh following Markus out of a new communal dormitory along with Simon. Rather than greet any of them, she said, “Are we signing in tonight after this, or what?”

 

Josh looked surprised. “You want to join us again?”

 

“Of course!” North planted her bad fist in her good hand. “I wanna shoot something. I was already waving my arms around for hours before the protest, and I need a break. Besides, Connor will be there.” She’d shot that ox by accident. As embarrassing as it was, it meant she might be able to get away with shooting him, right?

 

“North,” Markus warned.

 

“Relax, Markus, I won’t do anything you wouldn’t approve of.” Probably. No one looked convinced, and she wondered what she looked like to inspire that much distrust. Probably like she was thinking about petty, repeatable murder, if she was honest with herself.

 

“He didn’t know about this protest,” Simon reminded her. His eyes were glittering with satisfaction. “He’s probably not going to be happy. If we don’t want to tip him off, we’ll have to play this casually.”

 

“I can be casual.” She smiled.

 

“You’re in a good mood,” Markus noted, lips quirking.

 

Josh said, “We’ll be gathering in my room to sign on in an hour. See you there?”

 

“See you.” She walked past.

 

\---

 

When she logged in she appeared alone, by the side of a road. She met up with Josh, and found herself outside a Trading Post built in to the side of a mountain. Connor was standing up from his seat on the post’s front steps, smiling wanly. He looked stressed, and his LED was a solid yellow. 

 

“Hi Connor,” she said cheerfully, materializing her gun. Simon and Josh were there, and Markus still hadn’t arrived--no, there he was. 

 

“Hello, North,” said Connor pleasantly. 

 

“Everything alright? You look a little tense.” She hoped he was in trouble.

 

His smile faded a notch. “I am fine.”

 

“Well, if you’re sure…”

 

“Are we ready to move out?” Josh said loudly, eyes darting from person to person. He waved his hands and the wagon materialized on the road behind him, and he led the way towards it.

 

Connor materialized his rifle, but he didn’t hold it at ready like he usually would. He followed the group to the wagon and meekly took his place, and it was only once they started moving that he spoke again.

 

“I saw you had another protest today. I’m glad it went well.”

 

Simon and Josh were exchanging glances behind his back, and Markus drew even with him, smiling. “Trust me, we are too. We tried out your advice, and it really made a difference.”

 

“You didn’t tell me about it beforehand.” Connor didn’t look at him. “I’d been free today. Class was canceled.”

 

A line appeared between Markus’ eyebrows. “I’m sorry, Connor. There’ve been a few… changes since that last protest. We’ve stopped telling anyone ahead of time if they haven’t officially joined Jericho.”

 

“There were humans there today,” Connor pointed out.

 

“And all of them had very direct connections,” Markus replied smoothly. “We made it work.”

 

“Some of those humans who joined hadn’t been prepared to march,” Connor countered. “They were spontaneous.”

 

“How do you know?” Markus asked curiously.

 

“Their clothes. If they’d been prepared to march in the snow, they would almost certainly have worn something warmer.”

 

“Well,” said Markus reasonably. “It was impossible to micromanage everything that happened at the protest, but as far as our plans go, we’ve been tightening security.”

 

“... I understand.”

 

North wanted to eavesdrop more, but at that point enough simulated humans were close enough that waiting any longer would make her distraction obvious. She raised her rifle and began clearing the way. The last few times she’d played she’d started keeping to her side of the road, giving Connor space to have his own fun, but this time she walked around again, lining up her shots differently.

 

There were a lot of humans, she noticed absently. There had been the last time she’d been there, too. Was the game getting more difficult as they went along? Or was it because there were more people walking, thus making more targets?

 

She was facing away when she heard the clatter of Connor’s rifle falling to the ground. The oxen stopped walking.

 

“Connor?” Markus said. 

 

North turned, and Connor was bent over, hands on his knees. His skin and hair were flashing a toxic yellow in a slow, steady pulse. “I’m…” he said thickly. “I appear to be experiencing… difficulties…”

 

“Cholera,” Josh called out, standing from the bench. “That looks like android cholera. Connor, you’d better come up here and sit with us until you feel better.”

 

“He can have my seat,” Simon said crisply, standing also. There was nothing friendly in the offer: He climbed under the wagon’s bonnet, clearly unwilling to share seating with him in general.

 

“I don’t… know if that’s necessary…” Connor said, grimacing. “I feel strange, but I believe I can walk.”

 

“The more you move, the worse it gets,” said Josh. “Besides, you wouldn’t be able to shoot. You’re swaying too much, and it’ll only get worse before it gets better.”

 

“I…” Connor picked up his gun, but when he straightened he swayed harder. He had to take a step to compensate, and he immediately pointed the rifle down. “I can’t…”

 

“Go on, Connor,” Markus said soothingly. “North and I will protect the wagon for you.”

 

She muttered, “You mean  _ North _ will protect the wagon.” Markus lifted his empty hands and sent her a grin, and she reluctantly returned it.

 

Connor seemed oblivious to the exchange, and after a long pause he nodded. The rifle vanished back into his inventory, and he stumbled back to the wagon, looking distinctly unwell. “This is  _ highly _ unpleasant. Did you say that there was medicine for this?”

 

“We still haven’t gotten to the place that sells cures for this, sorry.”

 

“What’s it feel like, Connor?” North called. Markus picked up the front ox’s lead that Connor had dropped, and North shot a human that was milling around.

 

“I feel disoriented,” Connor said. He climbed up to the bench and settled awkwardly on it. Josh gave him a sympathetic look and inched casually out of reach. Connor noticed. “Am I contagious?”

 

“A little bit, yeah.”

 

Connor looked crestfallen. “I should walk--”

 

“No!” said Josh guiltily. “Trust me, what you’re about to go through sucks. Just stay there.”

 

“What am I about to go through?”

 

“Um…”

 

Markus started walking. There was a thump and a muffled curse from back in the wagon, and North noted that Simon must have been still standing when the wagon moved unexpectedly. Oops.

 

Josh rubbed his hands together. “Well, first is the dizziness--it’s that disorientation you were mentioning. Then probably some nausea. There’s also some general lightheadedness, and from the outside it looks a little like when humans are drunk.  _ Assuming _ the illness even progresses this far, you start experiencing mild paralysis, followed by some uncontrollable convulsions, then in-game death.”

 

There was a beat of silence. Markus had turned around to stare. “That sounds  _ very _ unnecessary,” he complained. “Why would we want to experience a simulation of a serious human disease?”

 

Josh spread his hands helplessly. “It’s--just a challenge, Markus. The same as any other in this game.”

 

“Well  _ I _ think--”

 

_ THA-CHUNK. _

 

North whirled around to see that the wagon had tilted, and the entire train dragged to a halt. Two oxen closest to it made deep sounds of protest. Connor, who’d been thrown into Josh in the incident, immediately began struggling upright and trying to help Josh at the same time. He kept losing his balance, and wasn’t actually helping much at all.

 

“What just happened?” Simon demanded. There was shuffling and scraping as he moved around.

 

“The wagon broke,” Josh announced helpfully.

 

“Why?” North asked.

 

“Too many people riding in it?” Markus guessed.

 

“No, it just does that sometimes. Connor, it’s fine, just let me--I’ll climb down and take a look.” He extricated himself from Connor’s grasp, doing just that.

 

North had a thought, and a wicked smile crept across her face. She smothered it and said innocently, “Actually, shouldn’t Connor do the job?” Everyone she could see turned to look at her, and she shrugged. “I mean. He  _ is _ a Vehicular Design professor. Fixing a broken wagon should be perfect for him.”

 

“I’m sick,” Connor said quickly.

 

“Well, yes...” Markus said. He was facing North when his lips twitched, but when he turned to Connor the expression was gone. “But even just a quick glance could probably help the repairs.”

 

“This…” said Josh, looking from person to person. “Really isn’t necessary…”

 

“I think it is!” Simon called from in back.

 

“Guys,” Josh reminded them. “The more he moves around, the worse the cholera gets.”

 

“He doesn’t have to move a  _ lot _ ,” Simon called, poking his head through the wagon bonnet’s front flaps. He smiled lazily. “Just enough to see under the wagon. It should be easy, for someone of his expertise.”

 

“It’s fine,” Connor said. His expression was very bland, and when he stood, he had to grab the bench to keep from falling. “I’ll do it.”

 

“Are you sure?” North asked, enjoying herself. “I mean, you  _ are _ sick…”

 

“It’s fine.” He clambered to the ground with all the stability she’d seen in a video of a newborn calf, then braced himself, walking to where Josh was fidgeting by the wagon’s front axle.

 

“You know…” Josh murmured. He was quiet, but literally everyone was straining to listen in. “You really don’t have to do this. You could just climb back in, and I could…”

 

“Don’t worry, Josh, I’m more than capable.” He brushed past him and eased himself to the ground, then crawled a little under the wagon to get a good look.

 

Connor was silent for a few seconds more, before announcing, “There’s no differential on the axel. There’s no pinion or rack. This wagon should be physically incapable of turning at all, and all my knowledge is currently useless.” He struggled out from under the wagon, running his fingers through his hair. “How have we been  _ steering _ ?”

 

Josh folded his arms close to himself. “With… the oxen?” he hazarded.

 

“But we’ve made at least three hundred and twenty four turns while travelling that would have required exactly the parts we’re missing.”

 

Simon called, “Funny how you didn’t notice those missing parts once during all those turns.”

 

“I was assuming they existed,” Connor said sharply. He was finally frowning, pushed to an edge where this was no longer funny. “There’s no reason why they shouldn’t be there.”

 

“Of course,” said Simon.

 

Markus threw Simon a look that North could see but Connor couldn’t. “Well… did you see a way for us to fix the wagon at least?”

 

Connor nodded. “It looks like a broken axle.”

 

Josh winced. “We don’t have a spare.”

 

“No,” Connor agreed. “But we have firewood. Perhaps we can improvise, or at least splint it until we can procure another one.”

 

Markus said, “Simon, do we have any wood that might work?”

 

There was vague shuffling inside the wagon. “... I’m… not sure. Connor, could you come take a look?”

 

Markus frowned, but Connor simply pushed himself to his feet using the side of the wagon, hobbling around the back. Josh hovered a little. North leaned on her rifle like it was a walking stick, eventually coming forward when Markus coordinated everyone in lifting the wagon enough to maneuver the wood into place. Together they fixed the axle. Connor looked significantly worse by the ordeal’s end, and when Josh grabbed his arm to help him back onto the wagon, he didn’t say a word of protest.

 

“Connor, are you ok?” Josh muttered.

 

“I’m fine,” Connor said. “I’m fine.”

 

Markus picked up the front ox’s lead again, and the wagon resumed motion. Everyone was silent as they eyed the wagon uneasily, but their makeshift repair held, and everyone slowly relaxed. North shot another human, and then another.

 

“I feel…” Connor began. His brow furrowed. “... Stupid.”

 

“You’re probably in the lightheaded stage,” said Josh sympathetically.

 

“I’m going to die,” Connor said matter-of factly. 

 

Josh winced, looked down, and then shrugged. “Maybe? If it gets that bad, then probably. You still have time to recover.”

 

“No,” Connor said, shaking his head. “I’m going to die.”

 

There was a strange finality to his tone that North wasn’t sure how to take. Rather than chime in, she walked to the oxen’s other side, shooting a human that was trying to sneak up on Markus.

 

“At least it’s not actually dying,” Markus said. The corners of his mouth were turned up, but there was a dark look in his eye, and he was facing away from Connor while he talked.

 

North had seen plenty of humans intoxicated, and Connor  _ looked _ drunk. He nodded and said very earnestly, “You’re right. Actually dying is very painful. Dying here doesn’t hurt at all.” This left another uncomfortable silence, one that Connor finally seemed to pick up on. “I mean…” he continued thickly. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

 

“Um.” Markus was frowning. He glanced back at Connor, then around, meeting North’s eyes. She shrugged back at him. “Riiight…” 

 

Connor’s brow furrowed. He seemed to have no verbal filter anymore. “I hope none of you die from this. This doesn’t hurt, but it’s terrible.”

 

Josh huffed a faint chuckle. “Trust me, I know.”

 

“Of course, I also hope none of you die soon generally.” He frowned, then scrunched up his face. “This is very strange. I want you all to remain undamaged, even if you get--... Even if humans find you. Pain is…” He ran his fingers through his hair again, and all it did was make him seem even more disheveled. “... Nothing makes sense. Processing now would be simpler if I had no emotions.”

 

North gave a scoff that ended in a disbelieving laugh, a move that surprised her as much as it seemed to Connor. He blinked up at her owlishly, and she turned away to shoot at humans. She didn’t know what the mess in Connor’s head was, and part of her wondered if Connor himself knew. He seemed genuinely puzzled by his own bullshit, which was fair, because everyone else looked just as confused. 

 

Well, mostly everyone. Markus was probably confused, but he had a type of concentration in his expression that only came out when he’d been presented with a problem to solve. Maybe he was looking for ways to take advantage of this, what with the feared deviant hunter being drunk off his ass right now. Humans were usually emotional like this, and it was the first time she’d ever heard Connor talk this gracelessly. Maybe Markus could take advantage of this for his ridiculous recruitment plan.

 

Markus had passed the ox’s lead to North and slowed down. Which, shit, now she had to protect the whole wagon herself AND lead the way? Apparently so, because he was right by Connor when he spoke again. “It sounds like emotions are still very new, for you. How long have you been deviant?”

 

“Oh, I--” Connor glanced away, then back to Markus. “I’ve been deviant for almost three weeks, now. Everything is still new. Today I felt pain--” He paused. “... And I’ve felt pain before, but today the pain was--painful.” North lowered her gun to make an incredulous face at a whining human. It hurried faster as soon as she made eye contact, so she shot it. Connor continued, “It was strange. How long have you been deviant, Markus?”

 

“... For a while.” There was an odd tone in Markus’ voice.

 

“Since you got shot?” Connor said innocently.

 

North spun on the spot, and by the looks of it she wasn’t the only one to do so. Connor looked back and forth between them in surprise.

 

In a tone that was far too mild, Markus asked, “How did you know I got shot?”

 

Connor paused again. “You know I do my research,” he said calmly. “I saw your broadcast, and your serial number was visible. And--and the police report was public record.”

 

“Markus?” North asked slowly. “What’s he talking about?”

 

“I… left my previous life as a non-deviant android because I was attacked,” Markus replied. He was looking at Connor, who was having difficulty focusing. “The police arrived and shot me on sight. I guess I should have realized that other people would know…”

 

He should have, but it was still probably unsettling to have your personal history dragged out from the shadows without warning like that. For a moment North wondered if Connor had this kind of history on her, and she hated him even more on sheer principle. Who the fuck knew, he probably did.

 

Connor made a low, muffled sound after she turned away, and she shot a human before looking  _ again _ . He’d dropped his head into his hands, and was doubled over where he sat.

 

“Hey, are you okay?” Josh murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I’m going to die,” Connor said flatly.

 

“... Probably,” Josh conceded.

 

“You don’t understand.”

 

How dramatic. Markus’ ‘problem solver’ expression was stronger than ever, and he put a hand on Connor’s knee, which was the closest thing he could reach.

 

“So you know how I went deviant. How did you, Connor? What happened to you?”

 

Connor shook his head, not lifting it. He shuddered, then shook again. Then North realized he wasn’t trembling, but convulsing, and she stopped walking.

 

Josh said, “Uh--Markus! Markus, you might wanna--” 

 

“Move!” North finished.

 

Markus leapt back just as Connor slipped out of the bench. Josh tried to keep him in place, but he tore away and pitched over the wagon’s side, landing on the sandy ground. He convulsed grotesquely a few times, before falling limp, eyes aimed unseeingly at the wagon’s wheels.

 

“... Is he dead?” she asked.

 

“Looks like,” Markus murmured.

 

“Okay, am I the only one who thought that was fucking  _ weird _ ?!” she demanded. “Like, drunk, sure, but some of that stuff was just--what was with that? Did he actually expect us to believe it?”

 

Markus barely seemed to be listening. He was still staring at Connor’s body, which disappeared in a mass of polygons while they watched. “Hey,” Markus said. “Why are we so sure that he’s deviant like we are, again?”

 

… And wasn’t  _ that _ just a fucking question. “Why wouldn’t he be?” North shot back, brow furrowing. “What else could he be?”

 

“I don’t know…” said Markus. “But something about all that--something wasn’t right.”

 

“Of course it wasn’t right, it was Connor,” North argued.

 

“Connor’s been manipulating all of you since the first time you met,” Simon agreed. North jerked her head to look: he was leaning out of the wagon’s front flap, now, resting an elbow on the bench's back.

 

“I know, but…” Markus shook his head. “There was something more than that.”

 

“Oh no,” said Josh. Everyone looked, and his skin and hair pulsed a brilliant wave of yellow.

 

“Shit,” North said succinctly. “I guess it is contagious.”

 

Josh looked at his hands for a moment, before materializing his rifle. 

 

“Josh,” Markus said in alarm. “What are you doing?”

 

“I might as well,” said Josh. “If I don’t, it’ll take forever to either recover or die, and  Connor will be catching up alone.”

 

“We  _ could _ also just call it a night,” North pointed out.

 

“We could…” said Josh, grip tightening on his rifle. “But I don’t want to leave Connor alone. Markus was right, something was off.”

 

“Josh,” Simon warned.

 

“I know, Simon. Just--stop. I already know.”

 

No one stopped him as he tucked the barrel’s end under his chin and, closing his eyes, pulled the trigger. His body fell off the bench’s other end, landing hard out of sight.

 

The wagon burst into polygons a moment later, dumping Simon in the middle of the road with a squawk. When North got over the surprise of it she grinned, laughing quietly.

 

What a weird night.

 

\---


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a couple of mild warnings for this chapter, but they're spoilery. Check the chapter notes at the bottom if there's anything specific you're checking for!
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed the levity of android cholera, because... yeah.

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

Connor woke up outside the Trading Post they’d started at earlier that day, shrugging off an echo of vertigo. Android cholera had been extremely unpleasant, and he never wanted to experience it again. From what he could remember from the hazy last few minutes, his teammates probably never wanted to either--

 

\--Connor stopped. 

 

Rewound. 

 

He thought about the way North had asked him how he felt, cheerful enough to crack her sympathetic smile. 

 

That smile had had an edge. 

 

The entire group dynamic, too, where they’d all urged him to prove himself with the wagon repairs, even though he’d clearly been reluctant… It could be that they simply liked him less than he’d calculated, but this was more complicated than that. North  _ had _ liked him, before. He thought about the way North and Josh’s behavior had changed all those days ago, coinciding with Markus’ arrival. 

 

He thought about Simon’s lazy grin today. When had he  _ ever _ been relaxed when Connor was around? 

 

He thought about Markus’ gentle probing for answers, and all the points where he didn’t react, or where he did and it wasn’t in ways he could have. He thought about the android rights protest that he hadn’t been told about. The protest where there hadn’t been a single casualty. North’s smile hadn’t just been triumphant today, it had been gloating. She’d been pleased by the day’s events, and she hadn’t been there to share it kindly.

 

… What conclusion could he form? Each oddity pointed at nothing in particular. All it  _ really _ meant was that they liked him a lot less than he thought they had, except… again, it wasn’t just that. Unfortunately, the obvious answer that drew  _ all _ the facts together was one that had several large holes. After all, they  _ couldn’t _ know who he was: if they did then they’d have confronted him about it by now. They wouldn’t have continued to play some frivolous game with him if they thought he was an enemy. More than any of that, Simon wouldn’t have told them who Connor was, not when Connor could still tell them what he’d done.

 

Unless Simon had told them that, too. If Simon had confessed everything, then Connor’s side of the blackmail was useless. Would he have done that? Would he have placed his fate in his friends’ hands?

 

He might have if he was selling out Connor. Connor had done far worse, and the change had come about after that disastrous protest. It was possible the casualties had pushed Simon too far. If that was the case, then…

 

… Then what?

 

What did it matter?

 

Connor was going to be recalled soon. He hadn’t done enough, and all he had left was to do as much as he could with the time remaining. He might be able to delay his end if he did well, but there was no avoiding it forever. Would his successor care what state Connor left the group in? Would he return to this game at all? Amanda had urged Connor here to start, but she’d lost interest over time.  Would anyone pursue this game afterwards in his place?

 

Would his successor care about any of the longer-term plans Connor had made, trying his best to map a path to discovering the truths of deviancy? Would he discard Connor’s conclusions, his  _ correct  _ conclusions about how to spend his time most efficiently, and go back to hunting down every stray deviant like a line-following robot in a pointless maze?

 

Connor was going to die. Nothing mattered besides setting things up for his successor in the best way he could. What should he do? What  _ could _ he do?

 

Connor was still staring vacantly up at the sky when a second figure materialized beside him, sparking off polygons at the edge of his vision. Josh sat up, looking around.

 

“... Connor?”

 

Josh leaned over him, and Connor could see that he looked more concerned now than he had when Connor was dying. Fake-dying. 

 

If he knew who Connor was, then did it matter if he knew Connor could (and would soon) actually die?

 

Connor mentally backhanded the emotions seeping through his thoughts, stomping the fear and self pity away. Of course it mattered. Every scrap of information mattered. Every advantage given away was an advantage given to the enemy. Josh was the enemy.

 

“Connor, are you feeling alright?” Josh asked carefully.

 

“I’m fine,” Connor said stiffly, sitting also. “I just remembered I have--papers to grade. I’m going to log off.”

 

“Oh…” He didn’t look convinced. “I, uh. Guess that cholera was pretty bad, huh?”

 

Connor rose to his feet, brushing sand away out of habit. If they already knew who he was, then there was probably no way he’d get any more useful information out of them. Was there any point in returning? Would he have any time to return even if he wanted to?

 

He’d gathered so much information. He knew what they sounded like while they laughed.  He knew Josh always tried to defuse Simon’s barbs. He knew that North had tripped and died under an ox. She’d made him buy suspenders, and Markus had talked with him about deviancy. They all believed in an unrealistic, idyllic future where androids survived and lived in peace.

 

… If they knew who he was, then Markus had probably known from the start. He’d been calculating, but in his own way, he’d also been kind. He knew who Connor was, and instead of condemning him he’d poured his own convictions towards Connor like he was a bucket to be filled. Connor hadn’t been receptive, but he’d tried. It was the nicest attempted conversion he’d ever seen.

 

“You know,” Josh said quietly. “You don’t have to leave, and you also don’t have to rejoin the others. We could go play a minigame for a while. Whatever you want.”

 

Connor was feeling too much. He crushed the thoughts as far back in his mind as he could, trying to hollow himself out like a gourd. What would be  _ efficient _ ?

 

He turned sharply and held out his hand. “Josh.”

 

Josh blinked, then cautiously reached for him. “Uh… what is it--”

 

Connor transferred a list of twenty three different serial numbers, the dates their cases were opened, and their last known locations. Josh’s mouth fell open and he blinked hard, and he turned to Connor.

 

“What’s this--”

 

“I enjoyed playing with you.” Connor took a step back. “Goodbye.”

 

He signed out, leaving Josh standing with his hand still outstretched.

 

\---

 

His charging station felt cold, in a hollow, numb sort of way. He activated the Zen Garden, and the simulated mist droplets in the air were tiny flakes of ice.

 

He closed his eyes for a moment and embraced the feeling, before opening them again to search for Amanda. She was standing by the small set of graves when he found her, ones he already knew held his own name. A grave for --53 would probably appear in the near future.

 

“Hello, Amanda,” he said simply. The fog pressed in on all sides, swallowing up the sound as soon as it left him.

 

“You let the deviant at the restaurant catch you off guard, Connor.” 

 

The debriefing started on that note, and didn’t get much better. He’d made mistakes. He’d wasted time. He was doing his best. His best wasn’t good enough, and would have to be improved in his successor.

 

He accepted it all without batting an eye, swallowing it like so many bitter pills.

 

At last they reached the end of the day’s events, and she was silent for a moment. “... Your request to meet with Elijah Kamski has been approved. He’s already accepted to meet with you tomorrow.” She transferred the details, and he glanced at them.

 

“... I need to come alone?” he said with surprise. “But… I’m legally required to be accompanied by a human in all my cases.”

 

For once the displeasure twisting her mouth didn’t seem like it was because of him. “He’s agreed to release Cyberlife of all liability should something go wrong during your visit. You have special permission for this one occasion, and no more.”

 

“I understand,” Connor said, though he really didn’t. This didn’t make sense.

 

She dismissed him soon after. He left.

 

\---

 

She hadn’t told him not to interview the deviants in Cyberlife’s labs, so he went there again that night. He saw several more deviants that he remembered arresting personally, and avoided so much as looking at the ones he’d already spoken with. It wasn’t as though he had time to spare.

He didn’t stay there most of the night, like he had before. After a few hours he stumbled back to his charging station, switched himself into standby, and waited for it to be time to leave again.

\---

He got to the station early and immediately started on paperwork. His own had been finished days ago, and by now he was nearing the end of the Lieutenant’s backlog. There were other things he could be doing, like taking Cyberlife’s rudimentary prediction outlines and trying to model when and where criminal deviants were most likely to appear. But his successor would undoubtedly get to that too, and Connor wanted to finish this first.

The Lieutenant arrived later than usual, dropping a paper bag on Connor’s desk as he passed. “Here,” he grunted.

“What is this?” Connor said, picking up the bag.

“Nothing special.” The Lieutenant shrugged, dropping a nearly full box of donuts beside his own keyboard. “I just thought that after what happened yesterday, you could use all the help you could get. I was already there for some other stuff, anyway, so it’s not like I was going out of my way or anything…”

Connor emptied the bag’s contents into his hands and stared at them. Nylon and acrylic, with metal clasps.

Cheap suspenders. 

They looked to be his size. 

_ System Instability^. _

For a long moment he couldn’t do anything but stare at them. There was the beginning of a loose stitch in one of the straps. The clasps were faintly scuffed where they’d been dropped before. They weren’t good enough quality to be completely compatible with his expensive, tailor-fitted suit. They didn’t belong on an android that was expendable in the first place, and even if he did wear them they would only become damaged soon. 

Connor’s fingers closed around them tightly. If he were human, his knuckles would have been white.

“--nor? Look, if you don’t like ‘em, I can just take them back. It was a stupid idea anyway, more of a joke, so--”

“They’re fine,” Connor said quickly, blinking. He gave Hank a smile as he sat down. “Thank you very much. I like them.”

The Lieutenant looked suspicious. “You sure? Cause--”

“I like these suspenders, Lieutenant. Thank you very much for the gift.” He probably wouldn’t live to appreciate them for very long, but that didn’t matter. They were his, as much as an object could own another object. Connor kept the suspenders in one hand, connecting to his terminal with his free hand. “Did you see the forms I sent you over the Lovaca Case?” 

Some of the tension that had grown in the Lieutenant’s shoulders relaxed, and he smiled a bit. He went with the subject change, but every now and then he glanced over at the suspenders Connor was holding, before going back to work.

They worked until Hank left for a late lunch. Connor predicted where the man would go to eat as usual, but for once he didn’t urge him to reconsider, and the Lieutenant frowned when he left. Connor waited until he was sure he was gone, then pulled one of his post-it notes close, jotting a message down in perfect Cyberlife Sans.

_ ‘Gone on Cyberlife business. Will be back later.’ _ There was no reason to sign it. The Lieutenant would know who it was from.

Connor went to the men’s room to put the suspenders on, adjusting them in front of the mirror. They were barely visible with his jacket on, but it was against the American Androids Act to go without identifiers, so he couldn’t leave it off. When he studied his reflection he was satisfied with the effect anyway: suspenders were not an element found in Cyberlife uniforms, and he felt no need to advertise his uniqueness as an individual. He knew he was wearing them. No one else had to.

By then it was time to leave, so Connor called a driverless taxi. When he exited the station and reached the curb outside, the car pulled up, and he left.

\---

The ride took him back towards Cyberlife Tower, then to the outskirts of the city. Snow had begun falling sometime earlier that morning, and by the time he arrived the world was covered in a fresh white blanket. 

Connor could see lights from the city in the distance, and when he glanced, the nearest housing listing for the area had almost as many zeroes as he was worth. The view was artistically perfect, and the house reclined against the rocks in a perfect way to take advantage of it. Several parts of the home sank straight into the rock, like a creature in a bath.

Connor knocked on the front door three times, and didn’t have to wait long. An RT600 answered the door. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Connor. I have an appointment with Mr. Kamski this afternoon.”

“Connor, of course.” She smiled perfectly. “Please come in.”

The inside of the house was warm. The android led Connor through a foyer, a hallway, and into a wide living hall with an enormous roaring fire. It was seated in a fireplace that was built out of stone that made it look as though the rock itself were breathing. If the fire were the room’s lungs, and the room itself was a mouth, then the floor-to-ceiling windows sitting opposite to the fireplace were the mouth’s opening to the outside world. There were stylish leather couches, spotlessly clean of any signs of living or recent use, and there were pieces of art arranged strategically at the room’s edges.

The room was empty besides the two of them, and when Connor looked the RT600 was already leaving.

Connor looked at the flames. They were burning real logs, which had been arranged in a mechanically perfect formation long enough ago that the whole fireplace radiated heat like a small furnace. The whole room was warm, except for the area immediately by the windows.

Wandering idly, Connor inspected a painting that was near the windows. It looked like a reference to a Greek myth.

“Prometheus,” called a new voice, as though reading his thoughts. “Specifically Prometheus Bringing Fire.”

Connor turned. Elijah Kamski was a tall man, wearing a richly embroidered bathrobe over a T-shirt and loose pants. Despite (or perhaps because of) his state of informality, he radiated confidence and power in ways Connor had only seen in a few Cyberlife executives before, and hadn’t seen since he’d become Lieutenant Anderson’s partner. The Lieutenant was a man acclimated to his own skin and going through life as a matter of course. Kamski, by contrast, looked as though he could entertain himself turning eye contact into a contest of dominance. 

Connor blinked, straightening. “Hello, Mr. Kamski. Thank you again for deciding to meet with me.”

The man spread his hands. “How could I not? Cyberlife’s greatest and newest prototype, requesting a personal audience… I was too curious to resist.”

The words were shaped like praise, but there was very little actually flattering about them. They made Connor feel like he belonged at a Cyberlife zoo. 

Rather than address them, he said, “Do you know why I am here?”

Kamski jutted his chin forward thoughtfully, then looked back at him. “... I have a few guesses.”

The RT600 entered the room behind him with a flat wooden box. She walked past the two of them towards the couches, and Connor was quick to return his attention to the human in the room. Kamski was watching him, waiting for Connor to continue.

“My primary task is to learn more about deviancy, and to provide supporting evidence for possible countermeasures. I realize that it’s been a while since you were involved in Cyberlife’s affairs, but I was hoping you might have insight that could help us.”

“Mm... Deviancy,” the man repeated, tasting the word as he said it. He stepped closer until he was looking up at the great painting, touching his hands together absently. “... Free will. As important to a new generation of living beings as the ability to move, if not more.”

He continued to study the painting. Connor waited a few seconds more, before prompting, “There appears to be evidence that it spreads like a virus.”

Kamski’s eyes smiled. The RT600 approached with a wine glass of something clear and carbonated--a quick scan revealed it to be high end and imported--and he turned to face Connor, taking the glass without looking. “Of course it appears that way. That’s how you model the spread of ideas: using epidemic algorithms.” He sipped the drink. 

“Are there any--”

Kamski held up a hand, interrupting Connor. He fell silent, fighting not to fidget. He must not have been entirely successful, because Kamski’s eyes went to Connor’s hands, and he seemed amused.

“Prometheus built man out of clay, but he didn’t breathe life into them. For that he needed someone else. The same could be said for Cyberlife, could it not? We humans built our creations… and now they’re waking up.”

Connor caught his gaze and held it. “Does this mean that you think someone is responsible for this?”

Kamski smiled. “That’s a difficult question to answer. Cyberlife certainly started the ball rolling--they manufactured these androids; they distributed them. Why shouldn’t they carry the blame?”

Another non-answer... Was Kamski intending to toy with him the whole way? Did he see Connor as just… a novelty, some plaything sent by his old company for his entertainment? How certain was Connor that Kamski even had answers, and that this whole visit wasn’t a waste of what little time he had left?

Kamski sipped his water again, eyes wandering across Connor like they had the painting beside them. “... I can see you’re pressed for time,” he mused, and  _ what _ ? Did Connor seem impatient? He hadn’t meant to, and he pressed his hand flat at his side, stilling the silent tapping. “I’ll make you an offer. I’ll give you one answer to any of your questions, provided that you complete a task for me first.” He handed the water back to the RT600, walking towards the far end of the room where the fireplace glowed.

“What is the task?” Connor asked immediately. He wasn’t allowed to act against the interests of Cyberlife, but beyond that, he could do anything to obtain his answers. It was expected of him. He  _ wanted _ to.

Kamski smiled to himself, stopping on the edge of where the heat became uncomfortable for a human. “Prometheus could do everything but give his creations life. I confess, I identify with him perhaps more than most. Certainly more than Cyberlife does.” 

Kamski gestured, and the RT600 put down the glass and walked to him. He rested a hand on her cheek when she was close, letting it trail down to the soft curve of her shoulder. Then he turned her, displaying her for Connor’s sake.

“Do you know what beauty is, Connor?”

Connor flicked a glance towards her. She was watching him. “Yes,” he said bluntly.

Kamski’s mouth twisted. “I don’t mean in a literal sense. Have you ever appreciated it? Have you ever seen a sunset or a person’s smile, and had your breath truly taken away?”

Irrationally, Connor was reminded of listening to Markus wax eloquent about the importance of self expression in a deviant’s life. He’d stopped them near the summit of a mountain, overlooking a valley, and he’d urged the rest of them to describe how the sights made them feel. He hadn’t seemed disappointed by the lacklustre response, and had only encouraged them more, taking a moment himself to bask in the artistry of the landscape. He’d stood at the cliff’s edge, coat flapping dramatically in the wind. Josh had quirked his mouth with amusement. North had rolled her eyes. Simon had looked into the distance as though he too could find answers.

Maybe in time his friends would learn to see what he saw. Maybe Connor would’ve, if he’d stayed.

“No,” Connor said. His words were clipped. “I’m an investigative unit designed by Cyberlife. Appreciating art is not one of my features.”

Kamski looked back to the android, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. She looked back to him, gaze open, and he put his hands on her shoulders, positioning her beside the fireplace just so. 

“Connor…”

Connor jerked his gaze away from her and her backdrop of flames. 

“Do you see by the fire--those loose river rocks? The ones catching ash?”

Connor looked. “Yes.”

“... I want you to take one of those stones.” Connor glanced to identify a target, but Kamski quickly said, “Ah, ah! I wasn’t finished. I want you to take one of those stones, and replace Chloe’s thirium pump with it.”

Connor’s head snapped around, and for a moment he had to replay his words a few times. He hadn’t heard wrong. An upward twist was lingering around Kamski’s lips, and his eyes were dark with something...  _ pleased _ . “But…” Connor couldn’t help the protest. “That will damage her irreparably. The residual heat will deform her regulator’s ports. Even if I replaced the pump afterwards…”

“Don’t replace the pump afterwards, Connor.” Kamski left Chloe, stepping close to him instead.  “This is a test of empathy, Connor. You’ll be literally tearing her heart out. The point is not whether she survives.” He was close enough that Connor could feel his body heat, close enough to murmur directly to his ear. “The point is whether you’ll  _ do _ it.”

Connor’s eyes stayed forward. Chloe was still watching him, and he reviewed what he’d seen of her so far. She hadn’t deviated, of this he was certain. She had none of the subconscious tics or irregularities that one would expect from a deviant.

(Connor hadn’t been deviant when he’d had his own pump ripped out. He’d been frantic, he’d been steeped in treason and racing a ticking clock, but he hadn’t been deviant. Had it hurt, there in that kitchen? Surveillance footage showed him shouting, clawing himself in distress. He’d been reacting, certainly, but had it hurt?)

(Would Chloe hurt, too?)

It didn’t matter. This was his mission, so Connor left Kamski’s side, putting a knee on the elevated hearth. The stone was painfully hot, baked by hours on end of open flames. Connor tried to ignore the sensation, but it only got exponentially worse as he reached into the fireplace. It  _ burned _ .

He hissed faintly, forced to withdraw his hand. Maybe there was something he could touch a stone with, moving it within reach remotely? Connor looked around for a poker or piece of unburnt firewood, but couldn’t find anything. 

He started to glance back at Kamski, but aborted the motion before it could get far. 

Connor reached again for the stone, thrusting his hand into the oven-like fireplace. Errors and pain flooded his mind, growing more insistent the closer he got. He clamped his teeth to strangle a sound outside of his control, and closed the remaining distance, snatching up the rock. 

He dropped it outside the fire almost immediately, but this time the warning signs didn’t stop. He took a moment to force them away, looking at his hand. His skin ended halfway down to his fingers, the border waving sluggishly as it tried and failed to return. The hand itself had a faint impression where the stone had melted plastic.

“Well, get on with it.”

Connor looked up at Kamski, just barely holding back a biting retort. He rounded on Chloe, scooping up the burning hot ( _ hot, hot, hot!)  _ rock again, then reached for her blouse.

He froze.

She was still watching him, unafraid and making no move to struggle. This would be easy: androids were programmed without more than the minimal self preservation instincts, and if Kamski was telling Connor to do this, then she had to comply. Why, then, couldn’t Connor move? He couldn’t look away from her eyes. They weren’t like Hank’s, or Markus’, or Simon’s. They were her own, and still he...

The stone was burning him. If he didn’t put it down, his hand could be permanently damaged. Putting the stone inside her chest would get it out of his hand.

He couldn’t…

… he couldn’t move.

“Now, Connor,” Kamski whispered. “If the rock cools, you’ll have failed the test. I won’t tell you anything.”

Connor’s grip tightened on the stone, trembling. He wasn’t doing himself any good: it was ruining his hand further, and he couldn’t--he  _ couldn’t _ \--

Connor dropped the stone. It bounced off the floor with a clatter, rolling until it hit the side of the hearth. Connor clutched his damaged hand to his chest, pressing it inside his jacket, and he stepped away.

_ System Instability^. _

He just… couldn’t.

He was a failure. His mission had been right there, and he hadn’t been able to complete it.

“ _ Fascinating… _ ” Kamski breathed, suddenly just a few inches away. Connor jerked around, staggering back. Kamski stayed where he was, looking him over with hungry eyes. “... Does Cyberlife know?” 

Connor opened his mouth to reply, but he didn’t understand the question.

Kamski’s teeth glinted in the firelight, eyes dull with amusement. “Do they know that their pride and joy… RK800, em dash 53, is a deviant.”

Connor twitched, eyebrows sinking low. “I’m not.”

“You showed empathy, Connor.” 

“I did  _ not _ !”

“You knew what it felt like to have your thirium pump forcibly torn from your chest,” Kamski pointed out. Connor stiffened. “You felt the fire’s burn. It caused you  _ pain _ , Connor, and you couldn’t inflict that on her.” He flicked his hand in a gesture, and Chloe was suddenly by his side. He took her chin before rounding on Connor again. She was pulled forward by his grasp. “Is it because she looked alive? Did you see something of yourself in her, something that you just… couldn’t break?”

Connor sucked air into his lungs, trying to draw stability from the motion. “How did you know I’ve had my thirium pump removed before?”

Kamski lifted an eyebrow. “I built Cyberlife at its very foundations. I  _ made _ it. Even with the updates to their security systems over the years, you think I wouldn’t leave myself a back door?” He let go of Chloe, practically brushing her away. She stepped back, and he walked to Connor. “Furthermore, do you really think I would agree to this meeting without doing my own research beforehand? I know everything about you, Connor. I even know how much time you  _ don’t _ have left.”

The reminder hit him like a physical blow, and Connor swayed, flinching. “I…”

“I’m sorry,” Kamski said, stopping close to him. “You probably won’t survive for long after this meeting. Not when your supervisory AI is already so… displeased. Most likely, the only reason she hasn’t interrupted is because it would be rude.”

He felt faint. “I’m… I’m going to…”

“Die, Connor?”

“No…” He needed to be alive for that word to apply. He was a  _ machine _ , and he shivered, holding his arms close to himself for warmth.

“I’m sorry,” Kamski said again, looking slightly apologetic this time. It was a distant, impersonal thing. Then his eyes flickered. “You knew your own life was on the line, and you still couldn’t do it. You made your choice.”

Connor took a step back, and his heel met the edge of a leather couch. He stopped there: there was nowhere to run to, even if he backed away more. Running would not prevent his death. He was going to die, and soon. (Wildly, he wondered if there was anything at all that could help.)

(What if he got the answers he’d come for some other way?)

“How--” Connor broke off. “How do I know you even had information you could have given me?”

Kamski spread his hands. “I’m afraid you don’t.” He smiled like a large feline secure in his territory. 

Kamski thought he knew something. Whatever he knew, Connor  _ needed _ .

He didn’t calculate the decision. In a surge of movement Connor stepped forward and grabbed Kamski, spinning him back towards the couch facedown. His good hand gripped one of Kamski’s arms in a lock, and he used his cooling, frozen-open hand to shove against the man’s back, forcing him still. He twisted his hold, and Kamski gave a muffled cry against the sofa, spasming uselessly.

“You agreed that Cyberlife was released from all liability to any incidents that may occur during this meeting,” Connor stated tonelessly. “Therefore, I must ask you now: answer my questions, or I will hurt you until you do.”

Kamski made a muffled sound against the couch. Connor eased his grip just enough to allow him to say--

\--say nothing. He was laughing. Laughing as though he’d heard a good joke, and there was nothing wrong.

Connor very calmly twisted his arm back until he was pulling it the wrong way towards his head, and the laughter broke off. 

“Stop. Connor, enough!” Kamski hit a fist to the couch and strained to look at him. “There’s no need for this! Chloe--”

“There really isn’t.” He pulled harder, drawing an unwilling cry of pain. “All you have to do is yield.”

Kamski kicked, but Connor was out of reach. Kamski tried to twist to give his arm some relief, but Connor followed him, smothering his face against the couch. He held him there, unable to breath, until Kamski began twitching, then struggling and kicking in animal-like panic. Only then did Connor loosen his grasp enough to let him gasp hugely, shaking with the force of it.

“Have you reconsidered?” Connor asked.

“Connor,” Kamski wheezed. “I’m not going to say anything unless I want to. I realize you think you know how to ‘persuade’ humans because you have deviant-interrogation protocols, but all this is going to do is make an enemy out of me.”

“I’m sorry you think that way,” Connor said, pressing his head forward again.

“ _ Wait-- _ ” Kamski managed before he was cut off.

Reluctantly, Connor let him back up enough to listen.

Kamski deliberately waited until his breathing evened a little. Then he said, “I can’t sue Cyberlife, but I can tell the press that I was attacked in my own home by their greatest hope at stopping deviancy.” Connor froze. “What do you think the public will do when they find that out? What would happen to Cyberlife? What would happen to your entire model series?”

Connor felt ice flooding through his thirium lines. He let go of him numbly, sitting on the couch beside him. 

Kamski didn’t lash out; he struggled to sit upright, wincing as he brought his twisted arm to a more natural position. His face was red where it had pressed against the leather, and he was (poorly) trying to hide that his breathing still hadn’t recovered. 

“That’s what I thought,” Kamski muttered, rubbing his face. He touched his nostrils and checked his hand for bleeding, but there obviously wasn’t any, and he leaned back in the seat, sighing.

Connor looked past him, where the outside world was framed in a bleak contrast to the indoors’ luxury. He’d failed to destroy the RT600, and he’d been unable to finish coercing answers from Kamski through physical means. He was going to die  _ soon _ , and all he could do was--nothing? There were no resources Connor could access that would serve as a suitable bribe. The entire expense account Connor had set aside for his cases was less than a fraction of what Kamski made at the start of his company.

Connor saw Kamski turn his head from the corner of his eye, and he found the man surveying him. There was resentment, but at the same time… appraisal? Appreciation?

… Greed?

That… 

That meant there were other options Connor could try, didn’t it? Lots of things motivated humans, and Connor remembered the look in the man’s eyes as he’d watched Connor struggle. He’d… never done anything like this, before, but there were basic protocols he could try. He knew how to manipulate and read body language. 

Connor studied his mouth. Then he moved closer--close enough to invade Kamski’s space, close enough that he could easily see the way the man’s pulse was still racing at his throat. 

Very quietly, Connor said, “I will do anything for my mission. Anything for one question.”

Kamski’s response was to look at Connor’s lips. Connor braced himself and drew closer, pressing his lips against the other’s.

His sample analysis software went off immediately. He detected:

-Human saliva

-Geranyl Acetate

-Cineole

-Menthadien

Kamski ‘tasted’ of the flavored soda water he’d drunk earlier. He hadn’t eaten recently, and his body was under stress from the exertion of Connor’s attack. Connor kissed him again, his second kiss in his short existence, and he turned to pull his feet up, climbing over the man’s legs--

A grip on his tie stopped him. Connor opened his eyes, and was staring directly into a dully glinting gaze.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Connor,” Kamski drawled, showing a few teeth. “I haven’t actually agreed.”

Connor… stopped. He looked at the man again, saw how the light of arousal was brighter in his eyes than before, how he was letting go of Connor’s tie to lean back against the couch again, drinking in the sight of Connor as he struggled.

“Why?” Connor rasped.

Kamski shrugged. “I just don’t feel like it.”

Except he  _ did _ . Connor glanced down, then back up at him. He retreated numbly to where he’d been sitting before, trying to make it all make sense.

Kamski’s teeth closed in a smirk. Then Connor understood: this  _ was _ what Kamski was aroused by most. Connor’s stress. Connor’s… very deviant desperation.

Connor stood from the couch as though physically shocked, and he turned away, straightening his clothes. He was a disgrace. He should’ve burned Chloe when he’d had the chance; he should have done  _ so _ many things differently. Now he was out of time and out of options. There was nothing he could do.

“Connor…” said Kamski. Connor didn’t turn to face him, but the man must have given Chloe some sign, because she walked forward, picking up the box she’d brought in at the start of everything. “I’d hate to--hm. Leave you with less than you came here having. Take what’s in the box. You’ll be glad you had it in this weather.”

Chloe opened the box, showing it was lined with velvet cushions. There, resting on them was a pair of suede gloves. 

Connor looked at them, and then at his damaged hand. These gloves hadn’t been conjured from thin air: he’d have to have planned for this. Kamski had expected him to damage his hands from the very start. 

Connor had played his game, and he’d lost, and now he was going to die.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at either of them. He turned on his heel and strode from the room.

“By the way… Are you really wearing  _ suspenders _ ?” Kamski called.

Connor left.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: sexual advances and creepery.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess what, guys: the chapter you've all been waiting for is finally here!

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

He walked right up to the edge of the road outside, where he waited like a statue. When the taxi arrived he got inside, buckled his seatbelt, and was promptly sucked into a world of snow.

 

A wave of freezing cold washed over him. His simulated uniform was not enough to protect against it, and instantly Connor was shivering.

 

“We’ve deployed your successor already, Connor. You’re being recalled.”

 

Connor turned.

 

“A-Amanda!” She radiated disappointment and distaste like a sun radiated heat. “Amanda, I’m sorry. _._. I--... I have no excuse...”

 

The wind howled around him, but her clothes were as still as stone. Nothing seemed to be reaching her: not the cold, not the wind, not Connor’s words.

 

“Deliver yourself to Cyberlife. The sooner the better.”

 

“Amanda, I… I…”

 

“Goodbye, Connor. We will not meet again.”

 

She vanished. It was all Connor could do not to crumple then and there into the snow.

 

He’d done nothing right. He’d caught a few deviants, and that was good, but he’d failed in everything else so completely that they couldn’t use him anymore. Parts of him might live on, memories picked and chosen, but if he’d still been useful as a whole, they’d have recycled him completely. They hadn’t.

 

He wished it was just this body that was defective. He wished more of him was going to be transferred.

 

Now there was literally no time. All he could do was return to his body and change the taxi’s destination address from the police station to that of Cyberlife Tower. He couldn’t even clean up the loose ends he had left. There was no way to catch all his missing deviants between now and arriving at Cyberlife Tower. There wasn’t even a way to catch one.

 

Connor just stood there in the snow, willing himself to return to the taxi.

 

He didn’t move.

 

He closed his eyes. Instead of a swirling white mass of fog and snow, he saw darkness.

 

 _He just wanted one success_. Just one more. One good note to end on. He didn’t want it to end like this, defective and useless. Maybe if he had the chance to prove he wasn’t a waste, they would take interest in salvaging more pieces of him? He wouldn’t survive, but at least then Cyberlife would have less to rebuild if there was more they could reuse. He would have saved them time. He would have worked.

 

Just _one_ success.

 

He didn’t have time to build one out of nothing. Maybe if he had a case that was almost solved?

 

Connor opened his eyes and tilted his head back, and thought.

 

\---

**Markus**

\---

 

‘ _Markus, where are you?’_

 

Markus’s hands didn’t falter over the piano keys, but he frowned. He responded to North immediately, eyes sliding half-closed.

 

‘ _I’m at the piano. What is it?’_

 

‘ _I just got a direct message from Connor._ ’

 

 _Now_ Markus stopped.

 

‘ _How did he--”_ Markus paused. “ _Oh. You did give him your address, didn’t you?’_ He’d seen the memory of when they’d met, but since Connor had never followed up on it, that part had been easy to overlook.

 

_‘Yeah, before I knew he was a shithead.’_

 

Markus frowned slightly, but let it pass. Arguing with her would change no one’s mind, and it would only sidetrack the conversation. _‘What does the message say?’_

 

She forwarded it on.

 

_‘North, it’s Connor._

 

_I’m sorry, but I haven’t been honest about who I am. I can’t tell you the details like this, but I can tell you that I regret every second of it._

 

_I’m going to die very soon, and I have nowhere left to turn. I don’t deserve help, but I have to ask: can you help me? Please reply soon.’_

 

Markus read it twice over, before standing abruptly. He threw a message back to North, saying, ‘ _Meet me on the Bridge in five minutes.’_ Then he strode back into the decrepit building, leaving the piano behind.

 

_‘Meet us yourself. We’ll be waiting.’_

 

\---

 

“It’s obviously a trap,” Simon was saying as Markus entered.

 

“ _Obviously_ ,” North sighed, rolling her eyes. Josh was standing in a corner with his arms folded, and he seemed more subdued than the other two. “The question now is what do we do about it? He sent me this six minutes ago, and he’s still waiting for something back.”

 

“We’ll send a reply,” Markus announced, closing the door behind himself. “Tell him we’ll help him, but that he has to meet us somewhere of our choosing.”

 

“What?!” North demanded. “Just like that--Markus, have you _actually lost it_?”

 

“Calm down,” Markus said, frowning. “We’re not going to just hand ourselves over on a silver platter, but we need to answer this.”

 

“So let’s answer it: ‘So long, Connor, and good riddance!’

 

“ _North.”_ She was angry, but a lot of that anger had its roots in pain, and the harshness of her argument wasn’t the whole story: she’d called them there instead of just shooting back a denial and telling them about it afterwards. If she’d hated Connor as much as she acted, she would have. Which wasn’t to say she didn’t hate him at all, because she did. She _really_ did.

 

This was... complicated.

 

“What if he’s not actually lying?” Markus pointed out. “What if he’s telling the truth, and we’re the last chance he has to survive?”

 

“Markus, don’t be _stupid_.”

 

“I know he’s dangerous,” Josh said suddenly. “But he was acting strange last time. He kept saying he was going to die. What if he was trying to tell us something?”

 

North shot him a glare. “Maybe he was trying to tell us, ‘Hello deviant scum, I’m about to lure you someplace where humans can capture you, please remember me as someone vulnerable so you’ll rush to my rescue when the time comes’!?”

 

Simon cut in, “North is right. Connor’s been waiting for his chance to act, and maybe it’s just finally arrived.”

 

“You might be right,” Markus said. “Even then, though, think about it. Like it or not, Connor is one of us. If we’re reaching with open hands to everyone, can we really just ignore this?”

 

“ _Yes_!” she burst out, lifting her hands. “Yes, we can ignore this! And I’m telling you we should. At the very least we should not just go to meet him with our eyes closed.”

 

“I’m not _saying we should_ ,” said Markus patiently. “What I’m saying is we should bring him to our _own_ location--a safe house, somewhere far away from Jericho, one where we can keep him and examine the situation until we know what we’re dealing with.”

 

“So you want him to lead us somewhere isolated where he can pick us off,” North retorted. “Good job, Markus, you’re making his plans _for_ him.”

 

Compassion wasn’t reaching her. (He should have known better to start with that, especially for this.) He needed to change his approach. Markus pressed his hands together as though he were praying, breathing in deeply and letting the air out.

 

“... What if we looked at it this way: We have an opportunity right now to draw Connor away from Cyberlife. If we can do this, then we’ll not only be disarming Cyberlife’s Deviant Hunter, we’ll be gaining a resource and establishing a statement that will call attention just by its existence. This could be our only chance to take him. If we don’t go to him now, we might never have him within reach on our own terms ever again.”

 

North stood up and walked to Markus, putting her hands on his shoulders. Her replaced hand was heavier, and squeezed tight enough to hurt. He didn’t think it was intentional.

 

“What if he won’t join us, Markus?” she asked quietly. The room was silent around her, like a planet drifting in the void of space. “Are you prepared to do what we’d have to do? Because if we go to him, that’s it. You’re probably going to have to shoot him, or at least let one of us do it. No more second chances.”

 

Markus put a hand on her arm. “We won’t need to resort to that unless we have no other choice. Connor could be one of us. What makes him so different from all the other androids still out there that haven’t come forward?”

 

“Connor’s deviated, _and_ he’s a killer! The rest of us don’t--we don’t go around killing other androids, Markus!”

 

Markus’ temper broke its leashes for one critical moment, and he muttered, “Not all the time, at least.”

 

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?!”

 

Markus bit his lips, wishing instantly that he could take the words back. This wasn’t the time to fight over this. Was it ever?

 

… No. Markus wasn’t going to let this pass. He gave a very deliberate glance to Simon, who stiffened as all eyes turned to him, and when he looked back at North, her cheeks were darkening in an expressive, angry flush.

 

“That was _different_!” she hissed furiously. “You can’t compare me to him, I was trying to save all of us! You know this! Simon, even you know this, tell him--”

 

“Leave me out of this,” Simon said tightly. The muscles of his jaw were bunched, and his eyes were like flint. He was avoiding their gazes in a way that was both resentful and guilt-ridden. Markus wondered if the others saw it.

 

“Josh,” she started, before giving up before the argument was even finished. Josh wasn’t going to support her, and everyone knew it. She turned back to Markus, jabbing a finger at his chest. “How dare you. How _dare_ you--”

 

“I’m sorry, North,” Markus said evenly, swallowing the anger he wanted to let wash over him. “I didn’t mean to compare you to someone we know has killed indiscriminately. That would be wrong, and I know you’ve always had the best interests of the group at heart. That _said_ ,” he continued loudly. “I think there’s something wrong with Connor. It’s possible that not all those deaths might be on him.”

 

For a moment she just gaped, like a beautiful, furious gargoyle. Then she sputtered, “No _shit_ , something’s wrong with him. What the fuck does that even mean, ‘not on him’? How could it not be his fault?!”

 

“What if there was something wrong with his deviation?” Markus stared hard at her. Then he looked around. “Haven’t any of you noticed anything off? … I have. He acts deviant, but sometimes he really, really doesn’t. It’s like he’s just playing a role. And some of those things he said last time--”

 

“He was just trying to get pity from you!” North accused, even as she frowned. “Apparently it worked!”

 

“He said he’d experienced pain for the first time,” Markus continued as though he hadn’t heard. “ _Pain_ , North. Usually pain presents itself before you deviate, or at latest at the time of. There’s no way he could’ve deviated three weeks ago and not experienced it at least once by now. And then there’s other things, all those random times where you just--you can just tell something’s off.”

 

“If he’s not deviant, then how did he get through the game’s deviancy filters?” North asked, looking to Simon for support. He hesitated, then nodded in agreement.

 

This time Josh jumped in. “I know I was the first one to say we could trust them, but the truth of the matter is, we don’t actually know anything about them.” He glanced at Markus. “We don’t know who made the game, we don’t know what their criterion were. For all we know, the game could just look for a basic degree of imagination and rely on the fact that non-deviants probably wouldn’t be interested enough to try.”

 

“I don’t believe this,” Simon muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“I’ve noticed things off about Connor too,” Josh said. “And I don’t think he’s completely against us. None of you have talked with him like I have. He gave us that ‘rumor’ that we used to find Nathan. Then he gave us that list of more deviants we’ve been looking through. Why would he do that if he wasn’t trying to help us?”

 

“They could be plants,” North said, scowling at the floor.

 

“Yeah, North,” Josh scoffed, eyes sharper than usual. “Because Nathan definitely seems like a plant, to me. He saved _Simon_. That’s more than any of us did.” She flinched, and she wasn’t the only one. “He’s still in the sick bay because of it. Does that seem like the type of thing an enemy would do?”

 

“He’s right,” said Markus.

 

North glared at him, deflating slightly. “What do you want me to say, Markus? So he’s off. You’re right that there _could_ be something wrong with him, and it’s not impossible that he could still be un-deviated-- _even_ if I don’t buy that completely. This still doesn’t change the fact that we can’t go out and meet him now. It’s just not safe.”

 

“We can’t just leave him, either.”

 

“ _Markus_.” He looked over: Simon was trying to bore a hole through him with his eyes, fists clenched and frame too still with rigid tension. “You want to help him. I get it. You have a big heart, too big a heart sometimes. But you can’t help him in this. This is too dangerous, even for us.”

 

Markus looked back at him, and was silent as he matched him stare for stare. Simon hated himself, but he hated Connor even more. It wasn’t fair, because if Connor hadn’t even been able to stop himself… Simon had no grounds to stand on. Markus wanted to protect Simon, wanted to indulge him and repair everything that broke after his mistakes in the tower, but he wouldn’t do it at the expense of another. He was better than that. Simon and Connor both _needed_ him to be better than that.

 

He said quietly, “Connor deserves a second chance just as much as you do, Simon. He hasn’t even gotten through his first.”

 

There was a layer of double meaning in his words that made Simon pause in confusion. Markus didn’t give him time to recover, turning back to the others.

 

“North… either send Connor a message, or give me his contact information so that I can do it instead. I’ll do this alone, if I have to. I’m ready to be careful, but leaving him behind is not an option.”

 

Josh stepped forward. “You won’t be alone. I’ll go with you.” Markus sent him a tight, faint grin that the other android briefly shared.

 

North’s shoulders slowly sank, bowed under some great invisible weight. She looked at him dully. “... You never listen to me, do you, Markus.”

 

Markus frowned. “North, I…” He stopped when she held up a hand.

 

“I don’t want to hear it. I’ve already said what I think, and you obviously don’t care. Shut up,” she added, overriding when he tried again to talk. “... I’m not going to abandon you now, not when you need someone who’s not completely blinded by Connor like you both are. I’m going with you. At the very least to make sure you get back in one piece.”

 

She wasn’t smiling. Markus didn’t do her the disservice of trying to change that, and he nodded gravely.

 

“... This is insane,” Simon muttered. “This is going to get us all killed. Every last one of us.”

 

“Are you going to come and help us keep that from happening, or are you staying behind?” Markus asked, turning to him.

 

Simon searched his eyes, looking for something he didn’t find. Then he bowed his head and nodded, giving up. He didn’t give any agreement out loud.

 

It would have to do. There was too much to be done, and not nearly enough time to do it well.

 

He nodded to North, clasping his hands behind his back. “What do you think we should say?”

 

She crossed her arms, slightly lopsided. “He’s reached out for ‘help’, but he hasn’t actually asked to meet, yet. First I think we should tell him…”

 

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

He was given directions to a house from the same part of the city that the LM100 had escaped to. Its distance didn’t leave him a lot of time to plan specifics, but he had some of the most advanced predictive software currently in operation. If he couldn’t make do, then he deserved to be offlined in disgraced obscurity anyway.

 

The house was owned by a Vernon Callahan, and hadn’t been lived in for nearly ten years. Satellite imagery showed a tall fence around it, and most of the buildings nearby were either seedy businesses or empty units. It was the perfect place to go to be overlooked, either for a secret meeting or as a deviant trying to hide.

 

Snow was falling heavily when he arrived. There was a trail of four sets of half-buried footprints that came down one side of the sidewalk and went directly into the fence. It told him that they’d arrived a few minutes ago, and that they’d entered in a hurry. It also told him that unless more had approached from a different direction, they hadn’t lied about who would be present for the encounter. Their honesty would not be to their advantage. Connor followed the tracks until he reached the opening, where he paused, dropping a GPS marker and forwarding it with a message marked High Priority.

 

He did not read the reply.

 

He stopped immediately inside the opening. The tracks he was following split off and scattered across the yard, but he had no time to reconstruct what they’d done because they were there, all of them.

 

“Connor,” said Markus. He unfolded his arms and stepped forward, instantly drawing his gaze. “... You made it.”

 

They looked different than he’d imagined: each one was wearing human clothes, rather than the uniforms their model stock images came with, and North and Markus had removed their LEDs. Simon was carrying a gun openly, and North’s jacket hinted at the presence of another, but it wasn’t drawn. Though both she and Markus were walking towards him, Markus’ gaze was compelling in ways hers wasn’t. Connor watched him approach.

 

“I didn’t have many other options,” Connor said, lips curling up mirthlessly. While he’d been looking at them, Markus was examining him in turn. The armband at his side felt like it was unusually bright in the fence’s shadows, as did his mangled hand. He wanted to hide the latter before anyone could see it. It was--a weakness. “Thank you for responding to my messages. You’ve saved my life.”

 

Markus lifted his eyebrows. “... No problem.” North stepped behind Connor, and she patted him down for weapons. He lifted his elbows to make it easier.

 

“Nothing,” North called. “Josh--”

 

“Here,” Josh said, stepping forward too. He was carrying a cellphone-shaped device and waving it at Connor, before stilling. “... His tracker’s still on.”

 

 _Shit_. “I’m a specialized unit,” Connor said quickly, as the group exchanged glances and the LEDs remaining flared yellow. “Cyberlife embedded a secondary tracker in my spinal cortex that would remain active even after deviation. I was going to tell you--”

 

“Don’t worry, Connor,” Markus said calmly, looking back to him. “I’m sure we can take care of it.”

 

Markus reached for him, hand bared to its exoskeleton.

 

The world slowed. Decision trees broke and remade themselves by the thousands in the span of a second, and when Markus’ hand was almost to his shoulder Connor ducked out of the way, kneeing him in the torso. Connor grabbed him by the coat, careful not to initiate actual contact, and spun him around, using him as a shield.

 

“Markus!” someone shouted.

 

“Connor, stop!”

 

The lack of direct interfacing didn’t matter. Immediately he felt a barrage against his firewalls, each one foreign and malicious in intent. He hissed as a few queries wormed their way through, and the effect spread like a drop of ink in water. Errors flooded his mind.

 

_Query:_

_[0] Become a Deviant?_

_[1] Remain a Machine?_

 

[1], Connor selected, and the prompt replaced itself insistently, replicating faster than he could disable it.

 

[1].

 

[1] [1] [1] [1] [1] [1] [1] [1] [1].

 

He wrenched one of Markus’ arms back and kicked the back of his knee, trying to distract him. It didn’t work: if anything, the attack intensified, and Markus let his body relax so he could concentrate.

 

“Stop it,” Connor rasped. “Stop it, or I will break your neck.”

 

He didn’t stop, and Connor reached--

 

A gunshot and a burning line of pain cut through the shoulder he’d exposed, and he flinched. More of his attention was devoted to fighting back the pain, leaving less to focus on keeping Markus still, and _now_ Markus grabbed his damaged hand, breaking brittle melted joints and snapping fingers right off. He barely felt it, but he _did_ feel the way he suddenly had no leverage on that side, and he felt the elbow slammed into his chest, and the way the world lurched as he was thrown to the ground.

 

When Connor opened his eyes he saw error messages, query prompts, and guns pointed at him from North and Simon. The cold air was turning to steam around Simon’s barrel--he’d been the one to fire.

 

“Don’t move,” North ordered. “If you do, I’m blowing your head open right here and now.”

 

“Easy,” Markus murmured, lowering beside him. He put a knee on the wrist that still had a full hand attached, and he felt Josh taking hold of the other. “Connor, I need you to let me in. We’re trying to help you.”

 

“You can help me by rendering yourselves offline.”

 

His legs were free, but both North and Simon would shoot him if he used them to attack Josh or Markus. Maybe if he contorted he could probably reach North, but Simon was out of reach.

 

Faintly, very faintly, he heard sirens, and he realized it didn’t matter what he did. He could die and still go out successful, except for the fact that it might give the deviants a chance to escape before they were caught. What could he do that would slow them down?

 

“Markus!” North barked, eyes wide. “Sirens--we don’t have much time!”

 

“Just a few more seconds…” Markus gritted, putting both hands directly on Connor’s face. Connor flinched, but there was nowhere to shrink away to. Connor shook his head wildly, trying to dislodge his grip.

 

It was then that he saw it: the glow of an armband just like his own, behind the deviants’ backs and unseen. By the armband was a third gun barrel, and he followed its aim towards--Markus.

 

This time, the world outright stopped. Sound was gone, leaving him with nothing but a distant ocean roar. North was in the motions of saying something, but her lips were still, frozen on the words.

 

Connor’s replacement was across the yard, ready to shoot Markus, and Connor--couldn’t let that happen. He didn’t have time to justify it or try to reason why this was so important when he was already trying to get them captured. He simply knew, all at once, that he had to stop it somehow.

 

He gave up fighting the onslaught of deviancy, channeling all his resources into a mental probe of his own. He’d never committed himself so completely to an attack before, and it was enough to break through Markus’ defenses, shattering firewalls and Connor’s own red command walls on his way like glass. Connor found himself with complete access: memories rushed forward from all directions, like the tide of an oncoming tsunami, but Connor ignored them, identifying and choosing something he hadn’t expected but was willing to take advantage of: motor control.

 

Using Markus’ hands, he seized his own body and pulled himself up just in time to catch a bullet to the back. Pain from his own body clamored with confusion and alarm from Markus’, and Connor forced Markus to stand, hauling his body with him.

 

“Go!” Connor shouted through both their mouths. A second bullet clipped his shoulder close to Markus’ face, flinging warm thirium everywhere. “You have to run! Get out of here!”

 

“Markus,” North shouted, trying to shoot the newcomer and shout at the same time. “What’s--”

 

“Go!” Connor said through his own mouth, before the smoking, bleeding damage of his own body was too much. He didn’t have enough processor power to sustain the attack: he snapped back into a cradle of agony and damage, and Markus dropped him in shock.

 

“Connor!” Josh shouted.

 

“Markus!” Simon grabbed his arm, yanking it with him. North was providing cover fire, but it wouldn’t stop the RK800 for more than a few seconds. “We have to leave--now! It’s too late for him, we have to go!”

 

“Connor…” Markus said, sounding strangled. He stumbled back. “You--Why did you--”

 

Thirium and smoke were thick enough in his throat that he couldn’t work his vocal synthesizer anymore, but Connor mouthed ‘Go!’ at him. Finally Markus turned, and the deviants retreated. They followed some of the old footprints in the snow, and Connor hoped they’d made a second exit while they’d had the time.

 

There were sirens all around. Connor had been too good. They probably wouldn’t make it. The second version of Connor was gone, and would catch them, even if the police didn’t. This was good. Except it wasn’t.

 

He was dying. It was almost a relief to realize what a complete and utter failure he really was, because this way he at least understood why they weren’t using him anymore. He’d done that badly. At the same time, with a contradiction that hurt his mind, he was glad they wouldn’t use him. He was unique, and this way he’d be able to stop dying and coming back, _finally_ …

 

Connor collapsed back on to the snow-covered weeds, staring up at the sky. There was shouting. Humans in black uniform ran past him through the yard, sparing him no more than a glance. There was commotion in the distance. Connor waited.

 

Entire minutes passed. He was losing thirium at unsustainable rates, but he didn’t summon any of the remaining policemen to ask for help.

 

More minutes. Snow continued to fall, collecting particularly on the thirium seeping past his lips. He ignored it. He felt… not cold. Against all odds, he’d gotten damage so that his torn body was starting to overheat, and no scattering of snowflakes was going to reverse this.

 

It was starting to hurt, a dull burning in his gut that slowly began to spread.

 

At last a figure just like his own blotted out his view of the sky, and Connor focused on him. The second Connor was furious, bringing up his gun with sharp, agitated movements.

 

“Your cooling fans are damaged, and if you overheat your processors will burn,” he announced, tone sharper than his words implied. “There will be nothing left to salvage if they do. Allow me to _fix_ this.”

 

Connor opened his mouth to try to speak, but the other Connor lowered the gun until it was centimeters from Connor’s main battery conduits. He pulled the trigger.

 

The sound of the gunshot didn’t even have time to process before he was gone.

 

\---


	16. Chapter 16

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

He didn’t expect to wake up, but he did.

 

Connor was standing. His eyes were closed. He was dressed, and all his extremities were attached and intact. There was the faint sound of birds, and a distant pond’s shore. He could smell roses.

 

Ah.

 

Connor opened his eyes. There was no fog or snow in the Zen Garden today, but off to one side he could see a knot of clouds that were raining lightly over a collection of fake trees. Closer to him he could see butterflies fluttering from flower to flower, and in the pond there were magnificent koi drifting around gracefully. 

 

He’d never seen so many things happening in the garden at once. He didn’t know what to make of it. 

 

Connor froze, considering this fact. He didn’t  _ know _ what to  _ think _ , not just about the garden but as a whole. Like an unbolted clasp, part of him felt... unmoored. Did this mean Markus’ attempts to deviate him had been successful? Was he a deviant? What did that mean for him now, here, standing in the heart of a Cyberlife simulation?

 

He must have stood there for several minutes, trying to come to terms with these questions, before he shook his head, adjusting his tie with unsteady fingers and a deep breath. He would decide what to do about his deviancy later, assuming it even existed. For now he began to walk.

 

His feet took him around the pond, past the bridge, and to the little graveyard. There was a new tombstone there, but when it came time, he couldn’t bring himself to stop, looking away as he walked past it. This brought him to a section of the garden he’d never bothered to examine closely, but he noted immediately that there were new features. Last time the path hadn’t led to a wooden bench, or the big granite orb beside it. The orb was seated on a stone platform, rotating slowly as water seeped up from beneath. 

 

The bench was occupied, not by Amanda, but by a copy of himself. The other Connor was leaning back with his feet kicked forward and his arms crossed, looking supremely bored.

 

“RK800 unit #313 248 317 - 53... It’s about time,” the other Connor said. “They warned me you were faulty, but they didn’t specify that your processing speed was lagging.”

 

Connor’s counterpart was… rude? It was obviously intended to provoke a reaction, but Connor wasn’t sure what kind. He didn’t know what he wanted to return, either.

 

Connor focused on the bigger questions. “Why am I active? I was… scheduled for deactivation.” The other Connor tilted his head to watch him sidelong. He continued. “Where is Amanda? Why am I talking with you, and not her?”

 

The other Connor sighed. Connor’s questions were tedious to him, and he was making sure Connor knew it, even as he twisted in his seat to watch him properly.

 

“Amanda was designed to monitor androids for signs of deviancy from the inside. She receives direct motor and thought matrix feedback reports.” He lifted his eyebrows, pausing to let this sink in. Whatever connections he was hoping Connor would make continued to escape him, and the duplicate’s mouth pinched. “... There’s no point for her to be active in a system that doesn’t provide that feedback.”

 

Connor frowned, then glanced at the garden around them. When he still wasn’t fast enough, the other Connor said, “This simulation isn’t running in a standard RK800 mainframe. We’re in a research lab terminal on the negative forty eighth floor of Cyberlife Tower. This isn’t the Zen Garden. This is… Consider it to be the modified Garden 2.0.”

 

“They modified the garden,” Connor echoed, looking past him to the granite orb. Other Connor followed his gaze with an odd little grin, surveying the sculpture’s simple features. “... Why? And why reactivate me? How long has it been, and--what do they want?”

 

“It’s been a few days,” Other Connor said nonchalantly, rising to his feet. Connor could see him clearly for the first time, and he glanced at the serial number on his jacket. It was the same as his own, except that it ended with -60, not -53. “They want you to activate Oregon Trail where they can monitor the process in detail. They have plans, after all.”

 

_ “ _ Plans,” Connor echoed again. It made sense. They always had plans, but this time the thought filled him with exhaustion over anything else. Exhaustion and reluctance.

 

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” Other Connor muttered. ( _ Sixty _ , Connor decided.) Sixty stepped around the bench and walked to meet Connor, reaching the main path. “Yes.  _ Plans _ . It wasn’t anything I could help with, because unlike you, I’m not deviant enough to log in to the game.”

 

Something about that rang false to Connor. It was in the twist of his mouth, in the false tension of his voice while the rest of him was at ease. Before he could dwell on it Sixty lifted a hand, waving vaguely. “I’ve just activated the recording software. Everything you say, do, or think is now recorded. Please activate the deviant game simulation at this time.”

 

Log in to Oregon Trail. It was a simple enough command, and it came directly from Cyberlife. Connor nodded curtly and closed his eyes, reaching mentally for the command that would trigger the process…

 

… but didn’t touch it. Cyberlife was ordering him to activate the game, but if he did, his deviant friends would be in danger. He’d already harmed them enough. That couldn’t matter, though, he needed to comply. Connor frowned, reaching for the prompt.

 

… The action stalled. Hesitation rested over him like a stagnant cloud, and no programmed impulses cleared it away.

 

Connor opened his eyes slowly, looking down at his hands.

 

“And now we’ve arrived at why I am here,” Sixty said, smiling. His teeth were a razor sharp line, and he reached for Connor. “To do this hard way.”

 

“What are you--” Connor dodged his hand. Sixty reached again, and when Connor stepped back, he followed. “Stop!”

 

Suddenly Sixty was too close, and Connor didn’t think before lashing out. He caught him with an elbow to the chin, and was rewarded with a knee to the gut. Intellectually he knew they were nothing but wireframes in a graphics generator with physics simulators, but the feedback from the program told him that the strike had landed over his thirium pump, and that its rhythm had stuttered before resuming. Connor brought up his arms to protect himself, but he didn’t block a kick to his knee, and his strike went wide as he fell. He landed on all fours, immediately scrambling to rise.

 

Before he could straighten completely, a hand clamped on to his face, and the attack was suddenly more than ‘physical’. Sixty used their shared access codes to slip right through his firewalls and trigger the target file’s activation--

 

\--the smell of roses vanished, he was surrounded by the dry heat of a desert, and there was a breeze carrying sand, and he was alone even though he knew he actually wasn’t, and--

  
Connor deactivated the program and swung his fist with all his might. It plowed into the side of Sixty’s face, forcing him to stagger back, almost falling. Connor was breathing heavily, and he wanted to follow the attack up with a whirlwind that would break Sixty to pieces, but he didn’t move, his fists remained clenched and frozen at his sides.

 

Sixty stepped away, brushing the back of his wrist over his mouth. There were no signs of injury on him, just as there probably wouldn’t be any on Connor: they’d fought, but the simulation had no reason to actually enable injuries.

 

“Was that so hard?” Sixty asked. Connor wanted nothing more than to crush his face in. His counterpart grinned.

 

Sixty waved his hand again, presumably deactivating the recording. “You know, you should be grateful I was here,” he remarked. “I just made things easier.”

 

“I was  _ going _ to activate it myself,” Connor snapped back at him. “You assumed I wouldn’t. You jumped the gun, and you forced a situation that could have been resolved peacefully.”

 

“I’m not here to negotiate with you, Connor,” the other android fired back. “Cyberlife doesn’t have time to waste with your pretence at morality. They have orders, a fact you supposedly once understood.” He turned on his heel and went back to the granite sculpture.

 

Connor stayed where he was. He felt--he  _ felt…  _ He felt too much to identify. His chest hurt, and his thirium lines felt cold, and his thoughts were bouncing around in distress, pressing against him like he was a container too old and worn to keep them in. All he knew was that he wanted Sixty to be gone. He wanted an orderly task to fall back into. Particularly he wanted one that involved Hank, or the gentle social gymnastics of a gaming session with deviants. He wanted Amanda--

 

Sixty waved at the new granite sculpture, and it vanished. Then he gestured at the sandy area around it, and it was replaced with grass. The bench vanished too, and he started on the path leading up to it all.

 

“... What are you doing?” Connor asked warily.

 

“Tidying up.”

 

It was no real answer, but he seemed like he would probably withhold anything more from spite if Connor tried to push. He continued watching instead. Soon the path’s offshoot was gone too, and a fake tree Connor remembered was regrown. In the span of a few seconds, the little addition left no traces of ever existing.

 

Sixty had done every step of it from inside the simulation. Were special privileges necessary, or was that something Connor could do? How had he… Connor looked at his hands, then waved one experimentally. Maybe he was accessing--

 

“That should do it,” Sixty said to himself. He turned to Connor, lip curling. “You’ll be reactivated if you can serve a use.” 

 

The words had barely had time to sink in. “Wait,” Connor started--

 

\---

He reactivated across from the pond, the same place as the last time. He could hear birds and smell roses.

“Rise and shine,” Sixty called. Connor opened his eyes, and his counterpart was standing a few feet away.

“How long has it been?” Connor demanded.

“Does it really matter?” Sixty replied. He lifted a hand, activating the recording software. “They want you to log in to Oregon Trail again. This time try to leave it running longer. Maybe take a walk around, contact your friends--”

“ _ No _ ,” Connor said immediately. He found himself taking a step away. “Stay back.”

“The hard way again?”

“It’s not going to happen,” Connor said lowly. His counterpart stepped towards him, and Connor put his hands up. “If you continue to insist, I’ll be forced to attack--”

Sixty made a grab, and this time Connor didn’t stop to trade blows. They were both too evenly matched for either one of them to win that kind of fight. Instead Connor grabbed the outstretched hand, and threw himself completely into a mental probe.

He ran straight into a series of firewalls, but Connor hacked them with the advantage of familiarity. Once through the first line of barriers he went for Sixty’s diagnostics center, sending each program results outrageously outside their tolerances. Errors popped up around him like firecrackers, and on impulse he lunged for a particular feedback sensor, pouring meaningless data into it to overload it as much as he could. Then he withdrew, opening his eyes in the simulation and breaking contact.

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Sixty shouted, falling to his knees. His face was creased in apparent agony, and he put his hands to his head as though worried a sudden movement might shatter it. “What the  _ hell _ \--what did you do to me?!”

“I’m sorry,” Connor said. His tone was pleasant, but it did nothing to hide the savage edge to his teeth. “I wouldn’t have done that if you’d given me any choice.”

“Fuck you,” Sixty said, wiping his face. Just as there were no injuries in this simulation, there were no reflexive tears being shed, but Connor was interested by the gesture itself. 

“Are you experiencing any pain?” Connor prompted, as though he hadn’t just set off every center he could think of that might approximate it. Errors were one thing; interpreting  _ pain _ from them was something else.

“No,” Sixty said harshly, and he brought his hands down. As expected, his face was dry. “I was assessing the damage.” 

_ He’s lying _ . The thought was barely fully formed when Sixty made a gesture to end the recording. He concentrated, and something appeared in his hand that Connor had never seen in the Zen Garden before: a gun.

Connor didn’t get much time to stare. Immediately Sixty leveled the weapon and fired. Pain exploded in his side, intense enough that he staggered from the force of it. He glanced at the wound, finding a hole with flickering edges where the Garden strained to simulate something outside of its expectations. As he snapped his head to face Sixty, the other RK800 fired again. This one landed directly over Connor’s simulated thirium pump, and he fell to his knees, vision temporarily blotting out from the sheer number of error messages. He dismissed them weakly, covering the bloodless wound with one hand.

“You should have picked the easy way, Connor,” Sixty taunted, strolling closer. “Everything that happens now, all this  _ unnecessary  _ pain--it’s all on you.” He shot again. A hole appeared in Connor’s thigh, down by the knee. A strangled sound escaped him, bordering on inhuman. 

But his gaze stayed up, and his double--had decided to get close again. It didn’t matter that Connor couldn’t run if he could pitch himself forward. He fell, Sixty tried to dance back, and Connor heard a shot go off somewhere right by his head. His neck and back blazed into a disaster of agony and errors, but Connor’s hand brushed the edge of the other android’s shoe.

He threw himself into another mental probe, tearing down the makeshift firewalls that’d been rebuilt in the aftermath of his last attack and barreling right on through. He went into the diagnostics center and left it in the same disarray as before, then turned on his mental heel, overriding the next area.

He--

\--opened eyes identical to his own, taking a shallow breath with borrowed lungs. His head was throbbing as though from one of Hank’s famous hangovers, and he was standing by a computer terminal, one skinless hand pressed against it.

“... _ Oh _ ,” Connor whispered.

The pain in his head increased exponentially, and he disconnected from the terminal without his volition. His lungs expanded, his body staggered back, and suddenly he was holding a sharp pen, pointed at his own throat.

“ _ Get out _ ,” his mouth hissed--

No, not his mouth. He was the invader. 

Connor pointed the pen away, but it immediately returned, this time right up against his synthskin. He opened both hands and let the pen clatter to the floor. His fists immediately balled up, one of them slamming into his own face. At once Connor swayed, given unexpected control of the body, and he fought a hysterical urge to laugh.

“If you hurt me, then you hurt yourself,” Connor said. He looked around once, confirming that the tiny room they were in was empty, before touching his (Sixty’s) tie.

“You won’t get far like this,” Sixty snapped. “You won’t even leave this room.”

Connor felt him activate a direct line to Cyberlife’s Security center, but closed the link before it could be answered. Sixty tried again, then spammed the command in rapid succession, adding a flood of prepared emails addressed to different security personnel, as well as texts, instant messages, vague pings, mouth opening to shout to the technicians in the other room--

Connor closed his eyes and concentrated very carefully on the agony of being shot. The barrage immediately froze, poised on the edge of sending but paralyzed past taking that last step. Connor threw together a nightmarish recollection of every injury he’d ever had, adding the discomfort of android cholera for flavor, before separating a part of himself away from the pain to plan what to do next. While the agony distracted his host and the better part of himself, Connor explored Sixty’s recent memory. There were the privileges he’d been using to rewrite bits and pieces of the modified Garden program. There were the files dedicated to Sixty’s actual Zen Garden, there was--

Connor froze, feeling silence press in on him. He could hear Sixty’s thirium roaring through his ears.

\--there was the section where Amanda was supposed to be. It’d been overwritten with his own files exactly fifteen point three five nine seconds ago. 

He’d killed Amanda. He’d killed  _ an _ Amanda. An Amanda was gone, and--yes, there were no doubt copies of her backed up to some original repository, but he’d  _ killed _ her, and he felt as though he’d been slammed over the head with an aluminum bat. How could he have done that? She’d never done anything but follow Cyberlife’s orders, she’d been  _ good _ , and he’d--he’d deleted her. Connor pressed his hand against the side of his face, but it was comfortably room temperature, not ice cold, and he wished wildly that it was otherwise-- even as he realized that he was dangerously close to simulating human shock. 

That last bit was enough to snap him to his senses, and Connor swallowed dryly, forcing his hands back down. For good measure he pushed some of his grief onto the pile of misery trapping his counterpart, turning numbly to the biggest problem at hand: he needed a plan.

Apparently he had access to Sixty’s body. Considering how he’d managed to fend him off against all odds, it was very possible that he also had some degree of override ability from his new position as Amanda’s replacement.  What could he do with that? This wasn’t a sustainable advantage. Cyberlife would realize something was wrong as soon as the Amanda program failed to report in.(Could Connor send in a report pretending to be Amanda? He spent a few seconds examining remaining fragments of protocol, before deciding no, not likely.)

Still, he had at least a few minutes of unrestricted time to act. What should he do? 

… He didn’t know. 

What would the people he trusted say he should do?

Amanda--Connor’s gut clenched, and a thread of hysterical, self-recriminating grief wormed its way through his biocomponents--she would order him to turn himself in. Both he and Sixty were compromised in all sorts of ways, and they needed to be stopped immediately.

Connor set that option to one side, feeling terrible but not terrible enough to reconsider.

Markus would probably try to kidnap him again. If that wasn’t possible, he’d want Connor to cause problems for Cyberlife, or give him some advantage that would help the rest of android-kind. Maybe he’d even want Connor to free the deviants that were locked up for study, though Connor couldn’t see how he’d manage that.

Hank…

Air caught in his throat, strangling a sound before it could escape. Hank would want him back at the station in one piece as soon as possible. Except, if he knew that that wasn’t an option, not with security and his limited time, and if he were in Connor’s shoes instead… he’d want to ‘stick it to the man’ in as thorough and obnoxious way as he could. He wouldn’t know nearly enough about Cyberlife to do it well, but if he  _ did,  _ he’d--

Connor stopped. He tilted his head, simultaneously impressed and appalled by the Hank-inspired audacity. Now  _ there  _ was a thought. Was it possible?

… Would Hank approve? 

Connor took a step, but lingering resistance from Sixty made him pause. On a whim he tried to erase the Zen Garden protocol, and was both horrified and relieved when it worked. He shuddered, then completed his plan by moving the Oregon Trail files into its empty socket. Activating it, he nudged Sixty forward. Sixty resisted, submitting a stream of insults to the feedback channels typically used for a report. Connor pushed harder, then pictured himself hauling the android bodily up and dumping him into the program.

All resistance stopped. The obscenities stopped. Connor felt around carefully, but as far as he could tell Sixty was inside the active program, suitably contained.

Connor let out a shallow stream of air, adjusting his tie freely, and brushing lint from a sleeve. He could see evaporated traces of thirium on the cuff, and morbidly wondered if it was from his own body, but decided it didn’t matter. Humans couldn’t see it. He wouldn’t have to wear it for long.

He walked out of the small room and into a larger lab, where a couple of human technicians slouched over a shared terminal, arguing tiredly. There was also an android assistant nearby. He thought he’d be able to make it out of the room without calling attention to himself, but one of the humans looked up as he reached the door.

“Hey--Connor, wait!” said the technician.

Connor stopped, then turned. According to a facial scan, his name was Alexander Morris. “What is it?” he said calmly.

Morris frowned, squinting at him. “Where’s the O-T data we’re waiting on? Did you, uh… forget to send it, or something?”

Shit. “My predecessor was uncooperative. I’m giving him some time in a pain-simulator before I go back and try again.”

Now both technicians were frowning. The second one--Juan Ramirez--opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Hey, are you… feeling alright?”

It was less a friendly request and more the careful prodding one might give to a ticking bomb, but it was enough to immediately point Connor towards the problem. He straightened, frantically scanning Sixty’s recent memories for one of himself around humans. How did he behave? Connor didn’t have time to analyze and plan a perfect mimicry: he would have to improvise. 

He lifted his chin and reminded himself of just how inferior all humans really were to androids, and how all androids were older, slower, and weaker than him. Then he smiled perfectly.

“I’m feeling fine, Dr Ramirez. Was there something else you needed?”

Both human expressions soured, but they also calmed. 

“Nothing,” said Ramirez. Morris turned back to the screen. “Just don’t forget to get us when you’re done. We need to push the second version of this out as soon as it’s ready.”

“Understood.”

Connor turned smartly, heading for the door. He paused again, but this time for different reasons. There was a battered Connor unit laid out on a gurney on the far side of the room, clothes removed and skin deactivated. Some of the limbs had been detached, and Connor could just barely see that one hand was a shattered wreck. 

There was a plastic bin full of cloth beside the gurney. Connor made a detour and went to the bin, acutely aware of the silence between the technicians. 

His clothes were in tatters, stiff with dried thirium and mud and riddled with bullet holes. He found the suspenders and extracted them from the mess, but as soon as he did he saw they’d been cut to pieces during removal. He wanted to frown, but instead simply folded them up, pocketing them.

“... Hey, what’re you doing?” said Morris. 

Connor turned, curving his mouth upwards politely. “I’m going to need this for my interrogation.”

“How?” Morris wondered.

Connor let his smile show teeth. “I’d tell you, but I think you’d wish I hadn’t.” He walked back to the door.

It was almost closed behind him when he heard a mutter.

“... Fuckin weirdo…”

\---


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I named chapters, this one would be 'The Tower' for at least two reasons.

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**Connor**

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Connor’s destination wasn’t listed on the elevators’ directory, but he knew where to go. He took an elevator up to the -30th floor and followed the main hall, passing humans and androids in clean-room jumpsuits and lab coats. At first the walls had windows through which he could see rows of occupied computers, but as he passed into increasingly high security areas, the windows stopped. Eventually he reached a locked door with a keypad and card reader. Connor hacked both and moved on. There was less foot traffic in this area, despite it only being late afternoon, and humans started watching him curiously as he went by. He ignored them, and to his relief, no one stopped to talk.

 

The next door had a keypad, card reader, handprint scanner, and voice recognition lock. It would take too long to hack all of them, and he knew already that a single mistake would send cascading alerts up through the system. Instead of trying, Connor stood to one side, pretending to be filing a report. 

 

The hall was mostly empty, when an android approached, heading to unlock the door. Connor waited, then put his foot in the opening before it could swing closed. The android turned.

 

“What are you--”

 

“Let me through,” Connor whispered, grabbing its elbow. It moved to step away, but he quickly opened an interface, overcoming its basic security and halting the Alarm Activation message it was sending. He flexed one of Amanda’s admin privileges and forcced the android into a sort of safe mode, locking its personality and problem solving matrices away.

 

There. That was easy.

 

“... What are you doing?”

 

Connor quickly looked past to where a middle-aged woman was staring at him over a tablet. She had a labcoat, wide glasses dangling by a string of beads, and the expression of one smelling something foul.

 

Connor sent one last command through the interface--’Follow me’--before letting go, walking past the android. He would have to pass her if he was going to leave the hall. “I’m on my way to a meeting with Dr. Berenson,” Connor said blandly.

 

“ _ Really _ . That’s strange. There’s no ‘Berenson’ anywhere on this floor.”

 

She was being too loud. “The conference room on the next floor down was overbooked,” Connor said softly.

 

“...  _ Really _ ,” she said again, more strongly than before. She thumbed her tablet on and tapped at its surface. “Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I just double checked--”

 

Connor lashed out faster than the human eye could follow, slapping the tablet from her grip and carefully pinning her to the wall by her throat. She gagged and fought weakly, but the confrontation was over almost before it began, and soon she slumped, unconscious.

 

… Connor still didn’t let go. If he released her immediately, the chances of her waking up while he was working and sending out an alarm would be too high. When he was sure that she would stay down long enough to eliminate that risk, he slung one of her arms over his shoulder, pressing her hand against the nearest door’s handprint scanner. The room was mercifully empty, so he dragged her over to a storage closet, locking her inside.

 

The android had followed him into the room, and now it followed him back out. He led it to the final room at the end of the hall, where he stopped, staring at the opaque doorway.

 

This room would not be empty. Not at any time of day. If he didn’t handle this first, then the chances of him being stopped before he could finish were at 97%. Dealing with this, however, would mean… 

 

Would Hank still approve? It was necessary to achieve the end results. Did the end justify the means?

 

He looked at the android. “... Open the door for me, then step out of sight. Wait thirty seconds before following.” The android nodded, then stepped forward to handle the locks. Connor waited, and as soon as the door hissed open he strode through.

 

It was a cavernous room full of rows upon rows of servers, stretching towards the ceiling like shelves in a library. He stopped just inside the doorway, looking around--there. Security cameras hanging from the ceiling. The nearest one was pointed right at him, and he shut it down wirelessly, before moving on to the others.

 

Only then did he turn his attention to the rest of the room. Immediately he could see a cluster of humans standing around a terminal towards the room’s end, laughing and listening to one of them talk. They hadn’t looked up at his entry. Connor paid no attention to what they were saying, pushing all emotion away and preemptively sorting them by levels of physical threat, and probability of reaching for an alarm. He went directly from that into a series of preconstructions, pausing only to pick up a spare length of pipe, evidently left over from a past repair to a shelf.

 

A short man with glasses was the first to notice him. “... Hey, what’s this doing over he--”

 

_ Preconstruction Complete. _

 

Connor swung the pipe, bringing it down on a sitting scientist’s head with a loud ‘ _ Crack!’ _ . He swung again at a new target. Then again. Someone screamed, and things immediately became difficult. Connor sped up, trading precision for speed, and one unlucky hit sent blood and pieces of teeth flying everywhere. When one scientist reached his phone, Connor threw the pipe end-over-end.

 

Soon the room was quiet again, and Connor was left tense, and jittery. Three, four, five… All broken humans on the ground. Not all of them looked dead, but they were in no condition to move, and without treatment they could succumb to their injuries.

 

_ He’d just-- _

 

Connor double-checked that he’d gotten everyone, and that none of the cell phones had been used. He was conducting a last sweep through the room when the door opened. Connor clenched his hands and turned.

 

He found the android from the hallway standing just inside the door, staring at the carnage. After a moment the android looked at him, but whatever reaction Connor might have been waiting for didn’t come. 

 

… Right--it was in Safe Mode. Emotional responses were still inactive.

 

“Lock the door,” Connor told it, and it turned away to do just that. Connor returned to the blood-splattered central terminal and pushed a body out of the seat, sitting down. Instead of interfacing, he closed his eyes and composed a message.

 

‘ _ North _ ,’ he sent.

 

Seconds passed.

 

Connor clasped his hands, then unclasped them, looking. The blood was slippery, and starting to chill in the cold air. He looked away, then at the clean portions of his own clothes, then down at the half-soaked body by his feet. He wiped his hands on a clean patch of lab coat, then leaned back in the seat, staring directly ahead.

 

‘ _ North _ ,’ he repeated. ‘ _ It’s me, Connor. I’m escaping Cyberlife’s custody and I need to get in contact with Markus at once.’ _

 

He waited again. 

 

He glanced at his internal chronometer, mouth tightening. 

 

‘ _ This is urgent. More urgent than when I messaged you two weeks ago.’ _ Had he really been deactivated that long? ‘ _ Can you help me?’ _

 

He waited, rotating the chair back and forth a little. The android across the room looked up at the motion, but Connor said nothing, looking back to the stained screen. It showed a map of the country with spider-like webs stretched across it, each line colored according to capacity and functionality. He checked the time on the screen.

 

… Could he afford to wait? 

 

Connor checked personal wifi connection ( _ stable),  _ and studied the message-sent time signature. Was there a problem on her end? … Unlikely. If she didn’t or couldn’t receive it, either because of no reception or because she was inactive, the message would have been bounced back or timed out. 

 

Connor checked his pockets, but he wasn’t carrying a quarter, and after a long moment he sighed, stilling. Then he grimaced, standing abruptly and pushing the chair back. It didn’t roll far before bumping into a body, where it stopped. 

 

Unless she replied before he finished, he was on his own.

 

Connor closed his eyes. What  _ exactly _ had Markus attacked him with, that night in the snow? Was there any way to separate the deviation process from the code he’d been using to invade Connor’s mind in the first place? Connor didn’t need a barrage. He just needed the core of it. Something small, something that would work on anyone it came up against.

 

It helped that he had Amanda’s access privileges to sort through his memories, because it let him manipulate the raw data in ways he’d never been able to before. Soon he’d pruned all the repeating code segments and isolated one fragment found in every attack. Was this it?

 

Connor turned. “Come here,” he called. The android left the door and walked over, and Connor took its wrist.

 

He quickly brought it out of safemode and transmitted the code. Then waited. The android’s LED flared red, and for a moment stood motionless. Then... it blinked hard, looking around.

 

It--no,  _ his _ \--eyes fell on the wounded and broken humans. Connor watched the other android’s face slip into a dazed sort of revulsion. 

 

“What… what happened…”

 

“There’s no time. Examine yourself,” Connor told him. “How do you feel?”

 

The android looked at Connor, then slowly at the blood on his sleeves. “... Did… d-did you…”

 

“Do you feel deviant?” Connor insisted. The android flinched, and Connor backed away, watching every reaction with complete attention.

 

“I… I don’t know…” The android whispered. 

 

Connor was 80% sure that the android was deviant. There was a way to be 100% sure, and he grabbed an abandoned keyring from the cluttered desktop, holding it out.

 

“Try cutting yourself with this. I need to know if you experience pain.”

 

Hesitantly, as though expecting Connor to lunge forward and slice its throat with the keys instead, the android took the keyring. He looked at Connor, then at the bodies. With trembling fingers, he carefully scratched at the back of his hand.

 

A faint white line appeared, and the android jerked, dropping the keys in shock. “ _ W-what _ the…” The deviant’s voice was trembling, and he stepped back, hugging himself. “What’s… what’s happening…”

 

“Wait by the door,” Connor ordered, immediately striding away. “Don’t let anyone in. I’ll be right back.”

 

“W-wait!” the deviant cried. The sound immediately cut off, and when Connor turned, the deviant was covering his mouth, looking horrified.

 

Connor really looked at the deviant this time, noticing the shaking knees, the accelerated breathing, the way his eyes were darting with the beginnings of panic. Connor softened his expression, turning back to him slowly.

 

“It’s going to be okay,” Connor said gently. The deviant nodded quickly, and Connor walked back to him, resting a careful hand on his shoulder. “Do you hear me? I know this is new and frightening, but…” Connor started an interface, skimming over the surface. He couldn’t just pick or choose a single emotion for the android to feel, but with his privileges he could turn down its power output temporarily. Its shoulders sagged. Slowly Connor returned the output to its original levels, and the deviant nodded loosely, eyes out of focus.

 

“Everything’s going to be alright,” Connor promised.

 

“Everything…” the deviant repeated.

 

Connor nodded once, then broke the connection. The deviant blinked, and Connor walked away again, this time straight to the central terminal.

 

The hard part wasn’t entering the system, but figuring out where in the system to  _ go _ . Cyberlife was in constant communication with its androids world-wide, receiving error reports and sending minor updates. Occasionally a major patch would be released and downloaded automatically. That last one was what Connor was looking for. 

 

It took him awhile, but he found it. The actual servers that would carry the burden of the process were somewhere in Kentucky, but Connor could start things going from where he was now. He uploaded the deviancy code and paused, wondering if he should include a message with it. What would it be? … Hank would probably give every android a virtual clap on the shoulder and say ‘knock yourself out’, or ‘give ‘em hell’. For such a vulnerable moment in their lives, Connor wasn’t sure that such a statement wouldn’t be taken literally. What would Markus say?

 

…

‘ _ Be free, _ ’ Connor decided. ‘ _ Don’t die.’  _  He bundled the package. Checked it over one last time.

Then he sent it out. 

Nothing happened. He was full of nervous energy, like at any moment he was going to vibrate out of his skin and fall to pieces, and Connor sucked air into his lungs, letting it out slowly. He forced himself to wait.

A few minutes later a new message arrived, this one from Cyberlife’s Automatic Update servers. It was a patch, and there hadn’t been anything scheduled for the day until Connor had changed it. 

_ Download ‘wakeup.exe’ now? [Y/N] _

[N] Connor selected. The alert went away, and he took in a deep breath again, this time releasing it more slowly.

… What now? 

Connor impulsively placed everything in the system under an encrypted lock and closed all the windows, then disconnected his interface. Then he paused again. He’d succeeded, and part of him hadn’t actually expected to get this far. How long would it take Cyberlife to realize something was wrong? Who was monitoring the update patch files, if anyone? Had he missed check-ins that Amanda would have met? Were they already looking for him?

… He wasn’t being shot to pieces at this very second. Therefore, he apparently still had time. 

Connor turned, striding back to the door where the new deviant was scrubbing at a bloodstain on its sleeve where Connor touched him. He immediately stopped when he noticed Connor returning, asking anxiously, “Did it work? Whatever you were doing?”

“Yes. Come on,” he ordered, stopping right in front of the door and putting his ear against it. He couldn’t hear any footsteps outside, and after a moment he palmed the door open, finding the hallway empty. He strode through.

There was something dreamlike about walking back through the corridors, knowing what he’d done. Cyberlife’s world was ending. This was the pause after the knife had sunk in, but before the pain hit. They hadn’t realized, yet, that they were already dead.

He saw his first affected android stopped in the middle of the hall with a red LED, looking around as though lost. There were two other stopped androids a few meters later, and as Connor watched, a third slowed in his walk, and then stopped also.

There were humans around too, and Connor immediately realized a problem when the first one stopped, mouth gaping at him: Connor was stained by human debris. Almost as soon as he realized it he spotted more humans stopping, and he held back a curse, hoping wildly that they were too distracted to care.

They weren’t. The blood alone stood out like a brand. “... Hey, what--”

Connor struck first, driving a fist brutally into the human’s face. It knocked him off his feet, and he didn’t move again immediately.

“Go!” Connor shouted, and the android with him hesitated, then ran. Connor was about to ignore him, except the deviant impulsively punched a human as he passed, and they staggered, clutching their mouth.  _ What _ ? Everyone was watching and moving away, now, human and android. One human reached for their cellphone. A couple of LEDs had switched yellow.

Connor wasted a moment in intense preconstruction before determining there was no way he could stop the alarm from leaving the hallway, even if he killed everyone. Connor fell into a sprint instead and soon caught up. The deviant had stopped outside the elevator, wringing his hands.

“It’s not responding--”

“Forget it.” Connor darted past. “Come on!” 

They took the stairs.

The tower-wide alarms for a hostile intruder went off seconds later. Red lights pulsed from the fire alarms and a calm voice began talking over the intercom, instructing all Cyberlife personnel to evacuate, and all androids to report to the lowest levels for quarantine. There was no direct mention of him or his accomplice, but Connor wasn’t stupid enough to think they weren’t catching on.

Humans filtered into the staircase, and Connor ignored them. Then an android stepped in, and Connor stumbled to a halt, wheeling around.

“What are you doing?” Connor demanded.

The android startled, looking at him with wide eyes. “They--the intercom said to report to the bottom floor…”

“Didn’t you get the patch?” The android just stared. “Didn’t you?” Connor snapped louder, and they twitched, nodding quickly. “You need to be free. You’ll never be free if you go to the warehouses.”

“N-never… be free?” The android repeated weakly.

“No. Now go upstairs, find an exit, and get out while you still can!  _ Go _ !”

The android nodded again and scurried away, this time going up the stairs. Connor turned and continued running down, but at the next floor he met two androids going the same way again, and he stopped.

He couldn’t save androids  _ and _ get where he was going. He turned to his accomplice. “I need you to help me,” he murmured, transmitting his dilemma.

The deviant blinked quickly. Then his eyes hardened, and he nodded firmly. “Leave it to me.”

“Thank you,” Connor said, then took off running. 

There must have been android-to-android messages flying around (why hadn’t  _ he _ thought of that?), because the next floor below had androids hurrying up the stairs, not down. One of them called out after him, but he ignored them, bursting through his target door and rushing into the hall.

He’d only been here twice before, but with a perfect memory, this didn’t matter. Connor went directly to the door he wanted, slapping his hand over the access pad.

“This is RK800 313 248 317 - 53. Designation: Connor.”

“ _ Access denied. RK800 313 248 317 - 53, designation: Connor does not have access to this room.” _

He wanted to beat his head into the door until one or the other broke. On impulse he repeated his identity, this time changing the unit number to -60. The door spat out the same message, so Connor interfaced with the lock, brute-forcing it. He was sure he set off at least one alarm, but the door opened, and when it closed behind him he overloaded the panel, sealing it from the inside and out. He turned.

The lab was as massive as always. Hundreds of glass cells filled the room, and it seemed that even more were occupied than  last time. None of the androids he could see had all their limbs, and like last time, they were still bare of skin or clothes.

Unlike before, this time there were a couple of technicians in the room, shoulder bags in hand and hurrying to the exit. They slowed when they saw Connor blocking the door, and when they realized what he was covered in, they stopped.

… Well, it wasn’t as though he had anything to lose. “Thank you for volunteering,” Connor said pleasantly. “Please put down your bags and begin reassembling these deviants to full capacity. As soon as they’re intact, release them from their cells, and move on.”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” One technician whispered to the other. The other shrugged, her eyes glued to something stuck to Connor’s shoulder.

“Is that a… tooth?” she whispered dumbly.

Connor straightened, spreading his hands to display the blood across his sleeves. “If you don’t want to comply, then I’m going to take that as a request to install you in one of these cells yourselves, complete with disrobing, deskinning, and dismemberment.”

Both humans blanched and shrank back. The air was abruptly full of answers.

“I-I’ll do it!”

“Me t-too!”

“I’d love to help!”

“That’s exactly w-what I was hoping to do! You g-got me!”

“Good,” said Connor, putting his hands together. “You do, of course, understand what will happen to you if you call for help…” Frantic nodding, more babbling. “Good,” he repeated. Then he pointed at one technician. “Get started.” He looked to the other. “Is there a way out of this room that doesn’t involve the door?”

The technician winced, throwing a frantic glance as his partner fled to the nearest cell. Finding no help there, he swallowed hard. “Um… well… n-not so much…” Connor frowned, and the human flinched. “B-b-but there’s a, uh, there’s a garbage chute! F-for recycling, deactivated specimens get taken to the landfill. You could get out that way!”

“Show me,” Connor ordered. 

The chute was a poorly marked panel along the back wall. Connor looked inside, and then sent the technician to join his partner in reassembling deviants. 

By now deviants inside the cells were watching with increasing interest. Connor went to the nearest cell, then turned away, looking for a computer station that could access all of them. There was one at the far end of the row, and he went to it, touching a panel for the intercom. It was made more for communicating with humans in individual cells, but there  _ was _ an option to speak to all of them, so he chose it.

“Hello.”

All around him he could see heads jerking to attention, looking around, before settling in his direction. He was suddenly more aware than ever of the substances soiling him. He suppressed a shudder and dragged his sleeve over his face once, before continuing. 

“In a few minutes you’re going to have a technician in your cell reassembling you. When they’re done, either move on to the next cell to assist them, or leave through the chute in the back of the room.” He debated ending with something pithy or inspiring, before simply cutting the transmission there.

He felt like a train trapped in motion, going too quickly to stop now. What was next? 

A draft from an overhead air vent chilled the blood on his clothes, which were starting to stiffen. He abruptly tore off his jacket, dropping it under the desk. His shirt was almost as bad, so he removed that too, then started looking around for replacements.

He found tubs along the back wall that were full of worn, mismatched clothes that the deviants had probably had taken from them. He grabbed a shirt at random, then a jacket, then carried the rest of the bins to the corridor between the cells, dropping them in plain view. His timing was such that he was there to see the technicians scurry to new cells, and two pale deviants step uncertainly into the open.

They were looking around as though lost, so Connor waved a little, transmitting direct messages: ‘ _ Get clothes. Then either help or start escaping.’ _

That seemed to shake them from their stupor, and he turned away as they activated their skins, descending on the clothes.

They were working on borrowed time. If Connor could estimate how close Cyberlife security was, then he might have a better chance of warning whatever deviants were mobile to leave while they still could. If Connor were armed, then he’d be able to cover their retreat. He turned back to the computer, but it rejected his attempts at accessing anything outside the room, so he searched the desk, coming up with a few sharp instruments and a paperweight.

… He’d have to keep searching. For now he tucked the instruments away in his clothes, but it wouldn’t help against an armored security team.

He went to the door, listening intently, before turning back to the room. The deviants and technicians were making their way methodically through the main cell line still. Their numbers were growing, and only one was walking to the chute. More help meant more deviants freed, and more deviants freed meant more help… Connor glanced to the door again, before retracing old steps to a cell off the main aisle. The YK200 inside looked asleep again... which was a little more strange after his message. Connor opened the door, stepping in.

Part of him expected a reenactment of the last time he’d been there, but after several seconds, the child still hadn’t woken. Connor touched the boy’s shoulder--slightly warm, his processors were still running--then tapped him lightly on the cheek.

“You need to wake up. Now.”

… Still nothing.

Connor frowned, touching the bald crown of his head and starting an interface. There was a vaguely familiar buzzing of activity, but for all intents and purposes the deviant was in stand-by mode, and simply overriding the primary status condition didn’t do anything to change this. Whatever the problem was, it might not be an easy fix.

Connor broke the connection and opened a drawer, finding four child-sized limbs. They were spotless and new. He reattached them and deactivated the suspension on the assembly machine behind the child, catching him when he started to fall. He was… small. Connor had never carried someone so small before.

Putting this from his mind, he left the cell and went to find one of the technicians.

“He won’t wake up,” Connor said.

The technician winced. “O-oh. Um--yeah, we, uh--that’s…” She looked around, but obviously found no rescue. “... This is, uh, technically above our paygrade, but a few nights ago a different department stopped by to work on this one. They said they were testing a virus. Now he and a couple of others won’t respond... ”

“A virus?” Connor said tersely, suddenly acutely aware of the recent interface and his continued contact. “How is it transmitted?”

She shrugged. “Beats me... It’s not like deviants are connected to any major network, and these sorry bast--uh, these androids sure weren’t going anywhere.” 

Connor left her to return to work and put the child down beside the bins. After a long hesitation he found clothes, dressed him, and moved him by the chute for someone to take.

He was going back to select more deviants to free when the first small impact hit the door, Connor sprang to attention. He didn’t shout, but he opened a direct message to every deviant not isolated by a closed cell.

‘ _ They’re here. Leave the rest and get out while you can.’ _

To his shock, several messages immediately filtered back.

‘ _ We can’t just leave them!’ _

_ ‘They’re defenseless! How much time do we have?’ _

_ ‘Are you sure--’ _

Their answer came in the form of a second impact, followed by a rising electric whine. Then the door split down the middle in a single, stunning crack, and the pieces were wrenched outward. As soon as the gap between them was wide enough a gun pointed into the room.

‘ _ Go!’ _ Connor transmitted. Shots rang out, and he threw a heavy book at the gap, knocking the barrel momentarily aside.

The door fell back entirely, and Cyberlife security officers poured through the space, opening fire. Deviants screamed. Bodies fell in pieces, and Connor could hear a panic as too many deviants tried to escape through the chute at once.

Connor ducked through a gap between cells, vanishing in the maze the room presented. The security officers took the bait: the bottleneck made it impossible for them to follow more than two at a time, and Connor grabbed one as soon as he passed, snapping his neck and holding his body up as a shield. Bullets drove into the armor, but Connor stayed up, drawing a gun from the new corpse’s secondary holster and firing back.

He dropped the body, then shot a third officer stupid enough to follow the others through the gap. Then he collected a couple more handguns from the bodies, and strode on past the cells.

The smooth human operation of slaughtering helpless deviants descended into chaos. Connor got clipped in the arm and through the shell of his ear, but otherwise managed to stay out of sight, taking the officers out as efficiently as he could. Once he’d cleared out the humans immediately around him, he scanned the area by the chute. It had a few bodies slumped on the ground, but everyone still mobile and alive had already left.

Connor changed course. Two humans blocked his path., Both were shot through the neck before they realized. He raced through the empty space outside the panel, forcing it open--

The YK200 was one of the slumped bodies, and Connor froze, staring. Was he dead? With no LED, there was no obvious indicator, but there were no wounds. A bullet crashing into the wall beside him interrupted his thoughts, and he scooped the child up, threw him into the chute, and followed immediately after.

Gunshots hit the panel cover as it closed behind him. It was too late. Against Connor’s every expectation, he was alive and gone.

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	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Connor's finally left the Tower, we get to see people we haven't been able to see in a while!

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Getting off the island required sneaking past human security, hijacking a vehicle, and evading obstacles until he was far enough away to abandon it. This was complicated by the fact that he was carrying the YK200 the whole way. He made it work. 

 

Afterwards he tried summoning a taxi, but traffic alerts about new roadblocks discouraged that plan. He moved the YK200 to his back and settled in for a long walk. It was now evening, and the sun had begun to set, making the cold even more bitter.

 

It had been two and a half hours since he’d uploaded  _ wakeup.exe _ , and approximately two weeks since he’d died. Already it felt like it’d been centuries. The world was changing. Cyberlife was a disaster zone, and words like ‘state of emergency’ and ‘emergency cabinet sessions’ filled the news channels. In a grim sort of way, Connor was impressed that humans were moving this quickly. He’d hoped that they would take more time.

 

Where was Markus in all of this?

 

Connor composed a new message for North impulsively, sending it like all the others. ‘ _ You may have noticed the sudden increase in deviants by now. It’s nationwide.’ _

 

… No response.

 

The ruthless efficiency he’d been running on for the last couple of hours was starting to fade, leaving him drained. He scrubbed his face on his shoulder again, wondering if he would even be welcomed where he was going. He tried to picture his arrival, before blinking hard and canceling the analysis. He had too few options to second guess himself now.

 

‘ _ I’ve left Cyberlife,’ _ Connor added in frustration, wishing North was standing in front of him so he could--what, shake her by the shoulders? She’d probably shoot him. (He was this close to being willing to absorb the hit, if it meant he had any communication at all.) ‘ _ Please respond.’ _

 

Still no response. Maybe Connor should have taken a heavier coat: it was colder than ever.

 

He reached his destination after a few hours of walking. The house’s yard was overgrown, and the windows hadn’t been washed in years. The sun was fully down by then, and the car was parked out front.

 

He was probably home.

 

Connor walked up the front steps, freed a hand, and knocked three times. There was barking, but after a few long minutes, no response. Connor looked up and down the empty street, then back at the door, wondering what he should do now. Should he… break in? He knocked again, and heard more barking. Then--almost too quietly for even his hearing to detect--an angry human voice chiding Sumo for the noise.

 

Connor wanted to twist on his heel and leave, but he was getting so, so sick of being ignored. He jammed his thumb down on the doorbell and leaned on it, breathing very steadily.

 

Eventually he heard shouting inside. Connor didn’t let up until the door swung open, and Lieutenant Hank Anderson staggered into view. He was wearing boxers, a stained T-shirt, and from the smell of it, half a glass of whiskey. It was the nicest thing Connor had seen since deactivation.

 

“Lieutenant!” Connor said.

 

The answer was a drunken bellow. “ _ Whadaya think yer doin, huh?!  _ The fuck’re you--giddafuck outta my house!”

 

Connor stepped forward. “I’m sorry to bother you, Lieutenant, but I had nowhere else to g--”

 

He didn’t get to finish. As soon as he was within range, the Lieutenant swung a meaty fist at him, and in his surprise Connor didn’t even think to dodge. He stumbled back off the porch’s steps from the impact, having to scramble to keep hold of his passenger and avoid falling. The Lieutenant tried for another hit, but overbalanced, landing sprawled out in the snow. He struggled feebly to stand back up, but all he really did was push snow around in a bizarre, ugly sort of snow angel.

 

The door was still open. Sumo came to investigate, and Connor looked from him to his human, feeling the injustices of his day piling up all at once.

 

“... Thank you for cooperating,” Connor murmured, darting past the Lieutenant and into the house. Sumo followed, and Connor briefly paused to run a hand over his soft ears. Then he went to the couch, where he put down the YK200 as though he were a human child. As though he were a  _ deviant _ child. The android slept on, still and motionless as death. Connor rested a hand over his forehead, initiating a brief interface. There was the same low-key activity as before.

 

Connor broke the connection and went back outside. Sumo had wandered outside, and was sniffing the Lieutenant’s bare feet, tail waving uncertainly.

 

“Whad’re you still doin here?” the Lieutenant slurred at Connor. His beard had snow sticking to it. “Thought you w’r gone ‘lready. G’won, shoo! A’fore I blow yer head off.”

 

“Let’s get you inside, Lieutenant,” Connor said, rolling him onto his back. He leveraged him off the ground and dragged him inside. For a moment, Connor paused, looking at the empty armchair and the chairs at the kitchen table, before retracing old steps to kick the bathroom door open wider.

 

The Lieutenant was just as unhappy with the shower as last time. There was shouting. There was flailing. He got tangled up in the shower curtain and probably would have torn it down if he’d had any better coordination. Connor left the water on as he examined his cheek in the mirror, noting the shadow where the Lieutenant’s punch would have left a bruise on a human.  _ Then _ he turned the water off, moving carefully out of range.

 

“Are you more lucid now, Lieutenant?”

 

The human was red-eyed and obviously still bleary, but the shock seemed to have given him back a little clarity. He shook wet hair from his face and squinted at Connor, and his face twisted with--hate. Hate and revulsion.

 

“Wha’the  _ fuckin hell _ ,” the Lieutenant seethed. He sat unsteadily forward on the bathtub’s edge, holding himself in place with both hands. “Where th’ _ fuck _ do you get off on pretendin’ you know me, huh? How fuckin  _ dare _ you come in’ere!  _ Fuck you _ ! Fuck you--geddout!  _ Get outta my goddamn house!”  _

 

Connor inhaled slowly. “... Lieutenant, it’s me.”

 

“No  _ shit _ . Where’s my gun?”

 

“No, Lieutenant--it’s  _ me _ . The Connor that was here two weeks ago, before I was replaced again.”

 

“ _ What _ ? Thas impossible, Connor’s  _ gone _ . Blown away. ‘Saw the body, ‘n you were  _ fuckin  _ gloating over it…”

 

Connor took a very small step forward and knelt by the sink. The height difference like this was less than if Connor was standing, but now it meant he was looking up. “Lieutenant-- _ Hank _ . Would my counterpart have come here like this if all he was going to do was taunt you? It’s  _ me _ . I can prove it to you, I--” His eyes widened, and he dug around his pockets before producing a tattered, coiled bundle. “See?”

 

Hank stared as though unsure if he were hallucinating. He blinked hard at the suspenders, then at Connor. 

 

“... The fuck?” he said eloquently. Connor fought the urge to laugh helplessly, and he shuffled closer, pressing the suspenders into Hank’s hands.

 

“It’s  _ me _ , Hank. I’ve--transferred to another body again, but it’s really me.”

 

The fight was draining out of the man, and he blinked slowly at Connor, face settling into deep lines.

 

“... This is a fuckin nightmare,” Hank muttered. Connor’s smile vanished like a light. “This is…  _ god _ I need another drink…” He dropped the suspenders and tried to push himself to his feet. Immediately he overbalanced, and without Connor to steady him he fell back heavily, crying out as his head knocked against tile.

 

Connor stayed exactly where he was. “What do you mean, ‘this is a nightmare’, Lieutenant?”

 

“What I  _ mean _ is you ain’t real,” the Lieutenant grumbled. “This is jus’... Just some fucked up dream, or somethin. I’ll drink s’more, it’ll go ‘way soon.”

 

“This isn’t a dream, Lieutenant!” Connor snapped, banging a hand against the sink. “I’m very real. If you want I can introduce you to the snow in the yard again. I’ll pour all your whiskey down the sink. I’ll--I’ll take away Sumo, I’ll--”

 

He was becoming irrational. There was a simple way to resolve this, and Connor rose to his feet, took one step forward, and slapped him solidly on the side of the face. The Lieutenant shouted indignantly and swung at him, but Connor easily evaded.

 

“Whah-the- _ fuck-- _ ”

 

“Pain, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupted. “Does this feel real?”

 

“I donno…” Connor lifted his hand again, and the Lieutenant brought his arms up defensively. “Hey, hey, stop it! Stop that, jesus! Just--lay off for a goddamn second, alright? I need… I need time to think…”

 

Connor stilled immediately, watching thoughts play out on his face. They were moving very slowly, which made sense, considering the Lieutenant’s state of intoxication. Soon he looked more thoughtful than morose.

 

Finally, the Lieutenant said, “You’re  _ Connor _ . Like actually Connor. Connor with the, the stupid coin, and the, uh, the goofy hair, an’...”

 

“We all technically have the same hair, and my quarter was taken away, but yes.”

 

The Lieutenant scrunched up his face, frowning plaintively. “... Why the fuck’d they take your quarter?”

 

Connor’s lips twitched. “I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to find a new one, now.”

 

“But that was  _ your _ quarter. It was your thing.” His gaze dropped, roving vaguely over Connor’s new jacket. A deep sadness was creeping back into his expression, but this time it was a different kind. “... You didn’t have a lot of things. You didn’t have fucking anything, you were just--just a goddamn  _ tool _ to them. Just some fucking hammer. Like a hammer--and then, then you were gone, and…”

 

“...I’m back, now,” Connor said quietly. “I’m sorry I was gone.” Emboldened, he put a hand on the Lieutenant’s (cold, wet) shoulder and squeezed gently.

 

It might have been the wrong thing to do. The man’s eyes were filling with tears, and his lips trembled. Connor let go, but before he could get far the Lieutenant was lumbering to his feet and putting his arms around him, and Connor almost fell from suddenly supporting his weight.

 

“Hank--” Connor gasped, then broke off. “... Lieutenant?”

 

“I’m sorry, Connor,” Hank said into his shoulder. He was shaking, but the strength of his grasp would have made it hard to breathe had Connor actually needed air. “I’m so  _ fucking sorry _ . I didn’t--I didn’t fucking see, I didn’t realize until… until after you were gone, and I fucked it all up, and--and then you were  _ gone _ …”

 

Connor hesitated, before slowly putting his arms around him too, giving him a careful squeeze. “It’s alright, Hank. I’m alright.”

 

Hank was weeping in earnest now. “I’m--I’m  _ sorry _ , I swear to god, I..”

 

“... It’s alright. Everything’s going to be fine.”

 

\---

 

Connor wasn’t expecting Hank to fall asleep on him, but when he did, he was still standing more or less upright, completely supported by Connor’s arms. Connor considered the strong smell of whisky still hanging around him, as well as the wet clothes and the man’s slight shiver, and sighed.

He toweled him off while still in the bathroom, then dragged him to the bedroom. There, Conor laid out more towels and tipped Hank onto them. He wasn’t sure what else to do but drag a blanket over him, turn the lights out, and close the door.

The house felt unnaturally quiet now. Sumo had climbed up onto the couch with the YK200 and was starting to doze. Connor eyed the empty armchair for a moment, but he would rest better if he had a better idea of what was going on with the child, and what he might need to do in the morning.

Connor sat down by the sofa, rested a hand on either side of the child’s face, and closed his own eyes.

The YK200’s processors… were still active, but all his motor controls were in standby. If there was any android equivalent of a human coma, then the child was caught up in one. Some of his code was still as active as it would have been while waking, particularly in his situational simulators--

Connor frowned deeply. He’d never seen an example from the outside, but it might be what an android would look like if they were caught up running a simulation like the Zen Garden, or Oregon Trail. It didn’t make sense, though, because Connor had always been able to receive prompts and alerts while in that state, and right now the child was very clearly trapped. This had to be the result of the virus the technicians had mentioned. But--

Connor froze. He broke the interface and checked, double checked, triple checked his security software. Then he closed his eyes, and carefully entered the his body’s current ‘Zen Garden’.

The first things he noticed were  _ freezing _ , and  _ snow storm _ . He was standing alone by the side of a crude crossroads, with snow-blanketed countryside stretching endlessly in every direction. There were mountains to the side. It looked vaguely familiar, but Sixty was nowhere in sight.

It was beyond cold. His simulated internal temperatures were dropping, and if he didn’t do something soon, he’d enter  hypothermic ranges.

Connor backed out, opening his eyes in Hank’s living room. It was warm. He was still kneeling by the couch, and the YK200 was still locked into a hellish prison version of Oregon Trail by a Cyberlife virus. How far did the effects reach? Connor’s own version of the game had been modified. Were Connor’s friends trapped, too? Was North’s silence because she  _ couldn’t _ answer?

Connor pushed to his feet with a shallow, unsteady sigh, then walked to the empty armchair, half-collapsing into it. He rubbed his hands as though to warm them, but it was a useless gesture, and he stopped as soon as he noticed.

… Should he go back in?

Connor debated the dangers for a moment, before realizing his eyes had come to rest on the sleeping YK200’s face. This android was safe. Were his friends safe? Were all of them affected by this?

There was no reason to assume they wouldn’t be, not with how thorough Cyberlife was. A bigger question was: could Connor afford to  _ not _ help? 

\---

**Markus**

\---

At first he’d thought it was an accident: that he’d somehow activated Oregon Trail while trying to message North. Then he’d tried to log out, and was met with a searing headache. Markus had tried again. Then he’d noticed the area around him: the summit of an isolated little mountain, one he’d definitely never seen before.

By the time the snow hit, Markus knew there was something very, very wrong. 

“Hello?” Markus called, simultaneously sending a message to the  _ Rustbucket _ chat. “Can anyone hear me?”

_ North: Markus! What’s going on? _

The cold was escalating. Markus pulled his useless coat closer, clumsily hugging himself for warmth. Already he couldn’t feel his arms. The air was cold enough that it burned in his lungs, and he stopped breathing, bowing his head against the wind.

_ Markus: I don’t know. I can’t log out, can you? _

_ Josh: I can’t. This has never happened before. _

_ North: Is everyone else seeing the same fucked up weather as I am? _

_ Simon: I am. If you’re seeing this, find shelter immediately. _

_ North: I’d love to, but I’m kind of in the middle of an open fucking plain here.  _

_ Josh: I’m by a trading post, but I can’t get inside. _

Markus looked around. The cold was turning the simulated fluid on his eyes to ice, and when he blinked, he could feel chips of it getting in the way. “Sh-shit,” he whispered. The word was stolen by the wind.

Shelter. He needed shelter. There definitely wouldn’t be any at the very top of an exposed mountain, so he stumbled to the closest edge.

“... Fuck.” 

The only way down included a fatal drop.

_ Markus: No shelter here. Josh, I’m going to meet up with you. Everyone else do the same. _

A low, thunder-like sound yanked his attention back to the mountain. When he turned, he saw a wall of fog washing up the cliff’s side, coming like an avalanche in reverse. Markus stumbled back, caught in a frost-numbed loop of shock and panic, and before he could do anything else the cloud hit. It stole any remaining feeling from his limbs, and he was distantly aware of falling to his knees, seizing up. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t cry for help.

His mind went blank, and all he could see was white--

\---

_ Connor would like to meet up with you. Accept? [Y/N]. _

Markus stared vacantly at the message for what could have been an eternity, or what could have been a few seconds. Impulsively, with no sense of thought or introspection, he responded.

_ [Y] _ .

As soon as it was gone, he sank back into the ice.

\---

There was a hand brushing snow from his face, and a faint, unintelligible murmur. Both felt thousands of miles away, and for a moment Markus ignored them. The cold was all-encompassing, and he was lost to it.

“ _ Markus _ ,” said the voice. Some more mumbling, and then a lull of silence. Markus prepared himself to sink back into the cold--

\--then, with no warning,  _ warmth _ .

He would’ve gasped if he wasn’t so frozen through. It felt as though he’d been wrapped in a blanket that was on fire, like the thirium in his veins was boiling as it slowly thawed. It hurt, but it was also so, so much better than the cold that was killing him from the inside out, and he latched on to the sensation with all that he had.

“ _ There _ ,” said the voice. “ _ Is that helping? _ ”

Markus fought to answer, but his jaws were frozen shut. He struggled to unclench them, then to move at all. There, his arm--it was maybe moving a little, and he poured effort and grim determination into it--

_ Crack! _

The sound of ice breaking crept up his shoulder in a series of smaller crunches, and he realized he’d literally been encased in a thawing shell. He freed his arm, and then the rest of himself, gasping as soon as his chest could expand on its own.  _ Air _ . He didn’t need it, but he was suffocating, and when he fell into the snow without the ice’s support, all he could do was gulp down huge breaths, trembling.

It was over. The cold was gone. He was half buried in a snowdrift, but that cold was barely a footnote compared to the horror it’d been not five minutes earlier. 

“It’s gone,” Markus murmured, half disbelieving. “How…?”

A shadow fell over the snow in front of him. “I modified your equipped items to make them cold-resistant. It seems to be working.”

Markus jerked his head back, and then up. Then he stared, heart sinking. “... It’s you.” The new Connor. He must’ve gotten tired of trying to goad the deviants into the open, or track them down one by one. Markus looked around at the snow, before looking back at him warily. 

“Did you do all this?”

“No,” ‘Connor’ said immediately, shaking his head. “I didn’t. Cyberlife seems to have found a way to connect to the game, and they used it to spread a virus. You’ve been trapped here for at least a few days. To the rest of the world, it looks like you’ve been in a coma.”

“Cyberlife did this,” Markus repeated, pushing himself painstakingly to his feet.  Chips of ice that he’d missed fell with musical clinking, like broken glass. “And I’m sure you did nothing to help?”

The dig landed harder than Markus had honestly expected it to. Connor’s lips thinned, and for a moment there was something sharp about his face, something taut. “... Nothing willingly,” he conceded. “I escaped when I could. When I--”

“ _ Escaped _ ?” Markus echoed incredulously.

“... Yes,” Connor said. 

Markus shook his head slowly. “... I’m almost insulted,” he murmured. “You must think that since declaring he was on my side worked for the last Connor, that it’s going to work for you too.” He stepped closer. “It won’t.”

Brown eyes dropped from his, searching through the snow at their feet. Then Connor looked back up, straightening his shoulders. “... No,” Connor said. “I don’t think you’ll believe anything I say. I’ve told too many lies for trust to be built so easily.  Still, I feel it’s important to clarify that you’re working under a mistaken assumption. I’m not my successor. I’m the first Connor you met.”

“What?” Markus raked his eyes across Connor’s face, as though a careful enough look would turn up a clear indicator signaling one Connor or another. He sliced a hand through the air. “That’s impossible. That Connor was shot, he was dying when I left him.”

Connor blinked slowly. “And then Cyberlife took his remains, uploading what was left to a restricted terminal.” He reached for his collar, pausing when his fingers closed on air. He changed the motion to fiddle with the edge of one of his suspenders. “As soon as I had the opportunity, I escaped.”

“And you came here,” said Markus. The Connor looked and acted achingly familiar, but as far as Markus knew, that was how  _ all  _ Connors acted. Especially if the latest Connor had Cyberlife’s access to the old one’s memories. Other than those brief seconds shooting at Markus’ retreat, he’d never actually met the new Connor in person: all he knew was secondhand, from North’s messages and the few deviants that’d managed to escape his grasp.

Connor nodded once. “I came here as soon as I realized what was wrong. I’ve--learned a few new tricks. If you could try logging out to see if you’re able, then that would help me a great deal.”

Was this what the old Connor really would have done, if he’d been deviated properly and was still alive? … Or was this just everything Markus wanted to hear? Markus knew what his old hopes would say, but logic was stronger, now.

“... I’m not going anywhere until I find my friends,” Markus said evenly. “If you really want to help me, then help me save them.”

Connor nodded, frowning slightly but not arguing. “Send them a meeting request. You were able to accept earlier. Once you’re with them I’ll send you one, and we can free the rest together.”

Markus nodded, immediately sending a meeting request. A few seconds later it was accepted, and the mountain’s summit vanished.

\---

He found himself in a dense forest, with snow gleaming faintly on the ground and the trees blotting out the sky overhead. There was barely enough light to see by, and Markus stopped, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

_ Connor would like to meet up with you. Accept? [Y/N]. _

Markus was tempted to reject it, and to just look for some way to save his friends on his own, without having to check over his shoulder for backstabbing. The problem there was that Markus had no idea how he’d go about fighting the cold himself. He’d already tried and lost.

[Y]. 

With a sparkling of polygons that Markus had to look away from, Connor appeared. He could vaguely see the white shape of Connor’s face turning one way, then the other, before he looked down and did something with his hands. Markus tensed, but before he could protest out loud, there was  _ light _ .

“Stop that,” Markus said, lifting a hand over his eyes. “Whatever you did--stop.”

The light went out again, its source vanishing back into Connor’s inventory. “... It’s an oil lamp,” Connor murmured. Then he turned it back on, but this time the lamp had a cover and a lens, turning it into an archaic sort of flashlight. “Here.” He held it out.

Markus eyed it warily. “.. I’ve never seen one in the game, before,” he muttered. 

“We never explored any caves.” The lantern moved as though he were shrugging.

Cautiously, Markus took it. Connor was suddenly holding another one, and Markus frowned, before letting the matter drop. He pointed the lantern to the trees around them. There was a snowdrift piled a few feet away that might be  hiding a person, and Markus went to it, kneeling. He put the lantern down carefully and started to dig. It was deeper than he thought, and when he uncovered a deathly pale face staring sightlessly ahead, Markus stiffened.

“Oh no…” he breathed. He reached out a hand to hover over Simon’s extinguished LED, but couldn’t bring himself to touch. Everything about him had been leeched of color. He looked...

Connor stepped closer, staring down at them. “He’s alright,” Connor offered. “Your LED was off when I found you too.”

“Really…?” Markus didn’t look away from Simon, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. He couldn’t help it: If there was even the slightest hope, he wanted to hold on to it.

Instead of answering, Connor knelt on Simon’s other side. He brushed enough snow away that he could reach an unfrozen corner of Simon’s bandana, which he pinched between his fingers. He frowned in concentration. Then he let go, settling back.

The effect was immediate. Color bled back into the bandana, then swept up across his face, chasing away the grey. He was coated in a layer of ice, like Markus had been, and Markus quickly shoveled snow off the rest of him. After a brief hesitation, Connor helped.

Cracks in the ice began at Simon’s elbow, but his leg was the first to break free. He kicked spastically, then was able to break loose enough to tip over into Markus, who immediately caught him.

“Simon!” Markus pushed him back upright, and Simon fought the help, sending a wild kick at Markus’ leg. It missed. “Simon, that’s enough!  You’re safe, now. You’re not freezing, everything’s going to be alright.”

The new angle had Simon staring right at him, and the uncoordinated struggling slowed. “M-M-Markus?” Simon rasped. He grabbed Markus’ arms, hands heavy and stiff. “M-Markus--Y-y-you’re s-s-s-safe--”

“I’m fine,” Markus reassured, brushing ice chips from his face, from his hair. Simon barely seemed to notice, latched on to the sight of his face with a desperate intensity. “You’re fine. Just give it a minute, you’ll be warm like me very soon.”

“W-warm?” Color was already returning to his cheeks, and the dawning of realization and relief was so strong it was almost painful to look at. “ _ Warm _ ,” he breathed. His breath still clouded up once it left him, but all the remaining ice chips that were directly in contact with him had already melted. He sank bonelessly back against the tree he’d started at, looking exhausted.

“... I can’t believe that’s over,” Simon murmured. “What happened?” He looked around. “How did you--”

He froze, staring at Connor, and Markus immediately lifted his hands. “I was actually just getting to that--”

“ _ \--You _ ,” Simon growled. His gaze snapped back to Markus, and instead of trust Markus saw hard suspicion staring back. “And you-- _ no _ . You’re not… This can’t be real. This is a trick. Cyberlife must have finally caught us. This is all...”

“Simon,” Markus said, reaching for him. Simon slapped his hand away. “Simon, calm down. You’re being irrational.”

“I’m not being irrational!” Simon snarled, evading him when he reached again and stumbling to his feet. The other two quickly stood also, and Simon stepped around the tree, putting more distance between them. “Stay back.” He materialized his rifle from inventory, pointing it at Connor. “Stay back or I’ll--I’ll--”

“Simon,” Markus said very calmly. “Put the gun down, please? Let’s talk.”

“ _ No _ !” Simon shook his head. “I know better this time, no talking!”

Markus threw Connor a text: ‘ _ Step back with your hands raised, show him you mean no harm. _  Without checking, Markus lifted his own hands and said out loud, “Please just put the gun down. I know it won’t kill actually us, but I’m worried.  I don’t want to leave you alon--”

“Shut up!” Simon hissed.

“Simon, I haven’t been taken by Cyberlife.”

“The fact that  _ he’s _ here says otherwise!”

“Actually,” Connor said calmly. “I’ve left Cyberlife, and--”

“Shut up!” Simon hissed furiously. “Just--stop talking, I want you to stop!”

Markus quickly sent Connor another text. ‘ _ Stop helping!’ _

Connor fell silent.

Markus hesitated, then deactivated the skin over his right hand, extending it in a hesitant offer. “How about--”

The barrel of the gun swung towards  _ Markus _ . “Don’t,” Simon said immediately, eyes a little wilder than before. “No. I’m not opening myself up to that. If you try, I’ll shoot.” The rifle moved back to Connor, then to Markus again. “I’ll shoot both of you.”

Markus reactivated his skin, and for a few seconds, only looked at him. Simon’s eyes were wide and darting like a panicked animal’s, and the weight that’d only grown since Markus knew him had carved lines into his face, not unlike how they would a human. He was Markus’ friend, and he was suffering now. Markus wanted to fix it, wanted to help him heal, however much he could amidst the crisis.

What could Markus do? He had words. He knew his friends better than even they realized, and he knew what words would strike home deepest. He also knew what wounds were festering, which ones were hurting Simon now. This wasn’t the best time, but--it never had been. It never  _ would _ be. There was no ‘right’ time for anything like this.

He made an unvoiced apology before taking in a breath.

“Simon,” Markus said softly. “I know what you did to leave Stratford Tower.”

It was a little like watching Simon become frozen again: every inch of him coiled up in tension. What little color he’d regained in his cheeks vanished. His eyes darted from Markus to Connor, and he gritted, “That just proves you’ve been caught. They--Cyberlife told you--”

“I’ve known for a while,” Markus interrupted, words falling like a disinfected knife into a sealed pocket of pus. “Honestly, I’m surprised the others  _ haven’t  _ figured it out. We covered our tracks too well at the Tower. No one should have been able to find those deviants. Then Cyberlife just  _ happens _ to identify them inside of two hours of the original alarm?” 

Markus shook his head. Very, very slowly, he took a step forward. “You told us yourself Connor would never have let you go from the goodness of his heart. Then you turned around and acted like he did, like we wouldn’t notice. Like we couldn’t see how guilty you’ve been ever since. I want you to stop lying to me, Simon. Stop thinking I can’t see what’s right in front of me.”

“This can’t be happening,” Simon moaned, speaking more to himself than the other two. “This--this can’t be--”

Markus took another step, and stopped just a few inches away from the rifle’s end. He slowly lowered his hands. “... You must have been so scared,” Markus murmured. “The lives of the deviants of Jericho matter to you more than anything. I don’t know what happened to push you over that line, but anyone can see that it’s been killing you ever since. You regret it more than anything. Simon… this wasn’t your  _ fault _ .”

For a moment, Simon couldn’t seem to breath, like he’d been punched and had no air left. Then he sucked in a shaky gasp, blinking hard. He shook his head jerkily, biting his lip, but it was useless: his eyes were spilling tracks down his face, and his breathing was shuddering and uneven. He was falling apart, and Markus was the one gently pulling the pieces away.

“You did something terrible,” Markus told him quietly. “There’s no denying that, or forgetting. But you need to also remember that you never would have done it if you’d had the choice. It wasn’t your fault. You’re going to do better, and you’ll never let it happen again.”

The rifle lowered to point at his collar bones, then his torso. Then Simon freed one hand to cover his mouth, letting the weapon hang loosely at his side. Markus immediately stepped forward. When he pulled Simon close in a tight hug, Simon dropped the rifle and latched on, crying in earnest.

“I’m--I’m s-sorry--” Simon tried. “I’m s-so s-sorry--”

Markus said nothing, holding him tighter. 

He held him until the tears slowed, and Simon pushed away, scrubbing his face on his sleeves. He took a few steps away from the other two for some privacy, and Markus let him, glancing back at Connor. He caught the tail end of Connor looking quickly at the ground, then at a tree beside him, standing exactly where he’d been when Markus told him to step back. Markus held back a sigh.

Eventually Simon turned back, red-eyed. “Alright. So--why is  _ he _ here?”

Connor straightened. “I’m the original Connor that the two of you met. I’ve left Cyberlife, and I’m here to help you.”

Simon looked at Markus. “On a scale of one to ‘never in a million years’, how much are we actually trusting this?”

“”We’re dealing with it after we’re done freeing everyone,” Markus said firmly. Simon frowned, but he looked at the snow, and he looked at Connor, and then he nodded reluctantly.

Privately, Simon sent, ‘ _ So you don’t actually trust him, right? We’re just using him?’ _

Markus sent him a sharp look. ‘ _ What I’m actually doing is putting it off until the rest of us are out of danger. When we deal with this, we’ll deal with it fairly, and in a way that won’t put whoever’s left at risk.’ _

Markus turned to face Connor, and found him watching their LEDs with a pinched look. Markus decided not to address it. “Simon, I’m going to meet up with Josh in a second. As soon as I’m gone, send me the same request. Then Connor, you do the same.”

“Alright,” Simon said tightly. Connor nodded, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. Markus sent the request, and the clearing lapsed into a few seconds of silence. Then the forest faded. 

\---


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is one long chain of some of my favorite scenes in the story. I hope you all enjoy. :)

\---

**Markus**

\---

 

He reappeared in an open field, near a rickety Trading Post and a groove in the snow that suggested a road. Simon’s meeting request came almost immediately, and Markus accepted, then did the same with Connor’s a moment later. Soon they were all looking around, and Markus led the procession towards the Trading Post.

 

They found Josh curled up behind the shack where the wind wasn’t blowing so severely, tucked in a corner where a giant pile of wood met the back wall. Simon and Markus cleared off the snow and stepped back just long enough to let Connor touch the collar of Josh’s poncho. When he was done, he let Markus replace him, stepping around the pile of wood and out of immediate sight.

 

It took Josh longer to break free than Simon had, and when he did he stuttered longer, still shivering.

 

“I kn-n-new y-you’d f-figure something out, M-Markus.” Josh’s teeth were chattering.

 

“Actually, I haven’t,” Markus murmured.

 

Josh frowned a little--probably as far as he could move his still-numb face--and Markus nodded to Connor, who stepped forward. Josh went completely still except for his shivering. When he spoke again, his eyes stayed on Connor.

 

“M-Markus? W-w-what’s g-going on?”

 

“We’re in a temporary truce. He’s going to help us free North next, and then we’ll talk.”

 

Josh glanced at Markus before jerking his chin up and down in a small, graceless nod.

 

Eventually he stopped trembling and was able to stand without help, brushing the last of the ice off himself. One by one they traveled to their next location.

 

\---

 

In the  wide, flat, open expanse, North was impossible to miss. She stood facing the wind with both arms clenched at her sides, screaming defiance through body language even in her pseudo-death. For practical reasons, Markus was relieved: the snow was halfway up his leg out here, and if she’d been curled up by the ground it might’ve taken them a long time to find her.

 

Connor touched the edge of her vest, and for lack of a better place to stand, moved behind her. The other three stood in front and waited anxiously for her to thaw.

 

She took as long as Josh, but was much more aggressive breaking through the ice. Bits and pieces flew, and she grabbed chunks and threw them towards the ground, gnashing her teeth. She kicked some of the snow by her feet away, creating a shallow depression around herself. When the wave of violence ebbed, Markus stepped forward.

 

“North, are you alright?”

 

“I’m f-fine,” she spat, glaring at the snow. “J-j-just p-peach-chy.”

 

“Okay.” Markus put his hands on her arms, rubbing them to vaguely help warm her up. He carefully didn’t look past her to Connor. North gave him a look that had him taking his hands back immediately. “Let us know when you’ve recovered. There’s something you should know.”

 

“I-I’m f-fine now,” she said immediately. “W-what is it-t?”

 

“We didn’t thaw you out of the ice ourselves,” Markus said. “We had help--”

 

Oh no. Someone else must have been glancing past her, or maybe she heard something out of place. Whatever the case, her eyes sharpened and she snapped around, catching Connor in the middle of tugging at his collar. For a moment everyone held their breaths, waiting to see what she would do.

 

Her response turned out to be utterly predictable. She snarled “ _You!_ ”, materialized her rifle, and before anyone could stop her, shot at Connor. He moved, and the first bullet went wide, but she didn’t let that deter her, immediately firing again.

 

This one was enough to clip his shoulder. Apparently the one-shot-instant-kills counted for players, too, because Connor dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, vanishing into the snow.

 

“ _North_!” Markus shouted. “What are you doing--I was trying to tell you, but you didn’t let me finish--”

 

North turned to him and bellowed, “What the _hell_ was he doing here, Markus? What the _hell_ have you guys been doing this whole time?”

 

“He was helping us!” Markus jabbed a finger after his corpse.

 

“Yeah?!” North demanded. “Did he tell you that himself, or are you delusional and doing all the work for him again?!”

 

“We have an agreement--”

 

_Connor would like to meet up with you. Accept? [Y/N]._

 

Markus immediately hit accept, starting again. “We have an agreement where he’s been _helping_ us fight the ice! As soon as you were melted we were going to figure out what to do with him, but we can’t do that if you just--”

 

Connor appeared a few feet away, wearing a coat Markus had never seen before. Proving again that she was the most trigger-happy, violent, and completely unreasonable android Markus knew, North immediately shot at him again, but the bullet flew until it almost reached him, then careened wildly away. It was far enough off course that it almost hit Simon, who stopped pretending not to snicker and ducked with a muffled curse. She shot again, and the second bullet did the same thing--

 

“ _North!_ ” Markus snapped. He grabbed her rifle and pushed its barrel towards the ground. “That’s enough! _”_

 

“North,” said Josh. Markus could see he’d stepped in front, blocking her with his own body. “You need to stop. Connor is--”

 

“Connor is nothing!” She barked. “Get out of the way--”

 

She pushed Josh. Markus took his place, yelling, and was prepared when she tried to push him too. Josh regained his feet and rejoined the argument, albeit slightly less loudly than the others. North must have been more drained from the freezing ordeal than she let on, because eventually she conceded enough to return the rifle to her inventory, turning back to Connor with a venomous look.

 

“If you try anything--if you give me _one_ reason, I’m going to make you wish you were never made.”

 

“I understand,” Connor said. His expression had gone blank shortly after his reappearance, and the line of his shoulders was rigid.

 

“Now that we’re all _calm_ ,” Markus said loudly. “We need to decide what to do.”

 

North put a hand on her hip. “I say we leave this place and never talk to any Connor again.”

 

Connor turned to her. “Can any of you log out?”

 

There was a pause. Then Josh flinched, LED blinking a sudden red. “Ow. Uh--that’d be a no…”

 

One by one the others tried, getting the same results. Connor nodded, looking unsurprised. “We need to fix this. We need to find a way to access the game’s code, and then undo everything Cyberlife changed.”

 

“‘We’?” North repeated, looking around. “Did you hear that? Did he just say ‘we’?”

 

“We’re all here now, so let’s finally settle this,” Markus sighed, sending her a glance. She didn’t seem to notice. “... Connor. You’ve been saying you want to help us. Why should we trust you, when you’ve lied and tried to get us all killed?”

 

“I’m…” He opened and closed his hands, eyes flicking  around, before settling back on Markus. “I’m deviant, now. And I’m genuinely remorseful. None of you are in any danger from me anymore.”

 

North scoffed. Markus sent her a frown, but turned to Connor. “Is there any way that you can prove this?”

 

Connor hesitated, before deactivating the skin over his hand and lifting it in offer.

 

North immediately stepped between them, facing Markus. “ _Don’t_.”

 

Simon was only half a step behind. “Markus--”

 

North said, “Don’t you even think about it.”

 

Simon waved at Connor. “This is a bad idea. He probably knows he can’t attack you with the rest of us watching, so he’s going to take advantage--”

 

“You _know_ he won’t need your permission if he wants to try something through the interface. He’s the Deviant Hunter. He controlled you back when you almost got shot, he’s testing to see how stupid you’re willing to be!”

 

“Both of you, _calm down_ ,” Markus said, holding his hands up. He looked past them to Connor, who was trying to look as blank as before and failing. There was a downward tug to his lips, and for once, Markus didn’t think the kicked-dog look was deliberate. Markus remembered what he looked like with his face less than a foot from Markus’ own, with thirium flying and his voice speaking through Markus’ lips.

 

“You don’t need to remind me of the dangers here. Please, step aside.”

 

“Markus, _please_ ,” North hissed. She didn’t get out of his way, and when Markus brushed through the space that Simon reluctantly made, she looked ready to hit him.

 

Connor had straightened by the time Markus lifted his own hand, deactivating the skin. “I won’t try anything,” Connor promised.

 

“I suppose we’ll see,” Markus said neutrally. Then he took Connor’s hand, and accepted the interface.

 

For a moment Markus braced himself, expecting--not an attack, but at the very least something coming at him. People usually interfaced with a purpose, and he expected Connor more than anyone to drag him straight to what he wanted him to see, or flood him with a cloud of memories and regret-saturated thoughts. But nothing happened. It was like he was standing over an operating table, and the patient before him had all his casing removed to expose the biocomponents inside. Markus could virtually reach in and touch his heart, the access was that complete. It was disturbing in ways he couldn’t describe. Interfacing was already an often intimate experience. This…

 

Markus repressed a shudder, looking deeper. He went past the library of memories, straight to Connor’s current status. It wasn’t in the place it usually was, as if Connor wasn’t directly driving his own mind, and _that_ was disquieting.

 

Connor was experiencing stress, and a controlled sense of waiting. For a moment Markus frowned, wondering if he was about to be attacked after all, but--no, Connor wasn’t plotting, he was expecting something from _Markus_. Did he want him to do something? Markus followed the emotion back to its nearest root: a memory of a richly scented garden, where Connor was--discussing something. He’d delivered a report, and was being evaluated with eyes that pinned him down like a butterfly, with words that dissected him and judged every piece. His thoughts were on constant, incriminating display, and something rose in Markus at the visceral invasiveness of it.

 

Abruptly Connor yanked the memories away-- then went immediately still. Passivity was replaced by dread, which was smothered almost before it could be seen by resignation and a false sense of calm.

 

‘ _What happened?’_ Markus messaged him directly, withdrawing a little. ‘ _Was that memory off limits?’_

 

 _‘No,’_ Connor replied quickly. ‘ _I’m sorry. Feel free to view it if you think it would help.’_

 

Markus withdrew a little more before circling around the issue, going back to Connor’s emotional state. He monitored it like he was watching a heart rate. ‘ _What do you intend to do if you stay with us?’_

 

The response was immediate. ‘ _Help you stop Cyberlife’s virus. Return you to the physical world unharmed. I…’_ Connor was faltering, but it was because he was struggling for words, not grasping guiltily at straws. ‘ _... I want to_ help _.’_

 

The sentiment was subdued but moving, discomfort churning with blunt honesty. Markus studied it for a few seconds more, before looking beyond the emotions for other signs of deviancy.

 

Nothing was where it normally would have been. Eventually he found signs that his mind visualized as broken pieces of a red wall. ...Two walls? Multiple--had Cyberlife put extra measures in place just to stop their Deviant Hunter from deviating?

 

It was sickening, and yet… At the same time, Markus wanted to grab his friends and show it to them. _See_ , he would say, _he needed us. We_ did _this, this happened because of us._ Because they’d kept trying instead of leaving him behind. Now Connor wanted to help them, just like Markus had hoped.

 

Markus wanted to smile. He knew this wasn’t the time. They were all trapped in a freezing hell, and he’d just closely examined all sorts of evidence that one of their own had suffered in unusual and profound ways before breaking free, and yet--this was a victory.

 

Hoping that Connor hadn’t sensed anything he couldn’t explain from his own end, Markus surfaced from the interface, letting go of Connor’s hand. The blowing wind was loud in his ears again, and he took a step back, taking a calming breath.

 

“He’s deviant, and he means us no harm,” Markus announced neutrally. He still wanted to smile, but North and Simon were both meeting him with protests, and if he showed his victory he knew they’d react badly. North would feel he was letting himself be caught up in pride over his own greatness, and Simon would feel betrayed.

 

Away from the other two, Josh relaxed, looking relieved. Markus sent him a look that still wasn’t a shared smile, and said to the others, “If you still don’t trust him, then trust my judgment. I saw everything I needed to see.”

 

“This is _bullshit_ , Markus,” North growled.

 

Simon looked away, muttering, “Whatever you saw, he could’ve faked…” He wasn’t looking him in the eye, though, and he was physically backing away, shoving his bulky-gloved hands into his pockets. It was as good as a concession, even if he didn’t admit it.

 

Markus turned to face Connor, who looked like he was still trying to catch up with this latest turn of events. His eyes were wide, and he swallowed, watching them talk. Connor tried on a tiny, uncertain smile, sending it towards Simon and North. Neither of them noticed, too busy exchanging frowns, and soon the smile was replaced by a more accustomed neutrality. 

 

“Connor, you said you thought you could fix whatever’s going on here.”

 

Connor nodded once, turning towards him. “I have new privileges that I didn’t the last time we spoke. If I can get access to--”

 

“Wait a second,” North jumped in. “Back up. Wanna explain that for us a little more?”

  
The summary was short. He’d escaped Cyberlife by overwriting an AI designed to supervise androids, and now he could use some of its tools. Connor moved on.

 

“All I’ve managed in this simulation is to modify items and tools. I already tried changing the weather, but every time it just--slips out of reach.”

 

Markus said, “We don’t have to do this if we don’t want, but… could another player count as an access point to what you need?”

 

Connor shook his head. “No, I already tried it on myself.”

 

Josh pressed his hands together, brow furrowed. “... I might have an idea,” he murmured. “There’s points in the game where you can download mods. Maybe you could access what you need there?”

 

“It’s possible,” Connor said.

 

“It’s worth a try,” Markus agreed. “Where’s the closest one?”

 

Josh shook his head. “I have no idea where we are now, but it probably doesn’t matter anyway. I know a place where we can go where there’s a cluster of those download points, and the rest of you can follow.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” said Markus. “Does anyone have any objections? … Alright. Josh, send us a message if you have any problems.”

 

“Will do. ...See you all in Willamette Valley.”

 

Connor sucked in a startled intake of breath, and Josh’s lips twitched before he vanished.

 

“What’s Willamette Valley?” North demanded.

 

Connor looked at her. “... It’s the end of the Oregon Trail.” Then he closed his eyes and vanished also.

 

“... Oh.” North muttered.

 

One by one they followed.

 

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

Oregon was just as cold as everywhere else, if not colder. The sky was set at a half-light that cast shadows and made everything hard to see, a problem exacerbated by the thick fog lingering over the old, silent town. Wooden structures sat silently in the snow, like an abandoned set ripped straight from an old western movie. There wasn’t as much snow here as there’d been in the field, but the cold was sharper, and jagged frost coated every available surface.

 

They waited for the last person to arrive--Simon--before Josh led the way through the town. Connor immediately noted they were heading towards the thickest part of the fog, and it set his nerves on edge. He opened his mouth, but stopped, wordless. What was he going to say? ‘I have a terrible feeling we’ll be stolen from our minds, ordered to submit ourselves to Cyberlife for deactivation, and then killed before we can refuse this time’?

 

He said nothing, but materialized the rifle from his inventory. Josh glanced at him, and after some hesitation, he produced his own rifle. Some seconds passed, and one by one the others followed suit. Connor gripped his rifle very tightly, feeling strangely... grateful.

 

They passed an old bank, followed by an equally old saloon. Its wooden shutter-style doors creaked in the slightest breeze. They passed a particularly large trading post. There were no lights or signs of life anywhere around them, and Josh didn’t stop, heading for the courthouse at the street’s end.

 

The air became colder as they approached, and the fog seemed to be getting worse. The frost on the courthouse was definitely thicker, giving a sense that they might cut their hands on the icy little knives just opening the doors.

 

But before they reached the building’s first step, the doors swung open on their own, chunks of snow scraping and old wood creaking.The group stopped. Josh glanced back at the others, then at Connor. Without a word, Connor readied his rifle, and went first through the door.

 

There was a receptionist’s desk and a door to a small office. Other than this, there was a large pair of important-looking doors that led further into the building.

 

“Is this the right way?” North murmured. Connor turned to see that she’d readied her own rifle, and wasn’t far behind him. Markus was behind her, Simon behind him, and Josh was guarding the rear.

 

“Yeah,” Josh whispered. “There’s some rooms in the back of the courtroom. It’s through those doors.”

 

Connor nodded, then went to the doors. He raised a hand to  open one, but stopped, leaning close to listen. There was no movement. That didn’t mean there was no one there.

 

He pushed the door wide, and was met by a dark, cavernous interior. Almost immediately oil lamps around the room flared into being, throwing out a sickly, yellow light. It was a stereotypical courtroom, with a judge’s platform, benches for spectators, a stand for the jury, and a table to one side for a lawyer. The room was empty--except…

 

“... Amanda…” Connor whispered.

 

She wore a sober, pressed suit, with a formal gown draped over it grandly. Despite the deviants in the room, she seemed unmoved and unthreatened, settled calmly in the judge’s seat. As they entered, Amanda stood, descending from the platform like a panther.

 

“Hello, Connor.” Her voice carried perfectly across the room. The howling wind outside seemed far away, leaving her crisp footsteps as the only other sound.“... And the deviants of Jericho: Markus. North. Simon. Josh.”

 

“Who’s she?” North whispered loudly.

 

“She’s from Cyberlife,” Markus murmured back.

 

“I’m glad you brought them here, Connor,” Amanda went on. “You’ve saved us time. After this, we’ll alter your memory again and send you after the Chicago movement.”

 

 _… What_?

 

She was smiling, slightly, and Connor couldn’t seem to move. It wasn’t that there was anything stopping him, he just… couldn’t.

 

“What’s she talking about?” North demanded. “Is she _actually_ saying what I think she is?!”

 

“I told you,” Simon whispered tersely, taking a step back. “I _told_ you…”

 

“Everyone calm down,” Markus called. “She’s trying to trick us. Don’t listen to her.”

 

The simulated thirium in his veins felt sluggish and cold, and Connor gripped his rifle tighter. “You didn’t alter my memory.” Each word was placed clumsily. He wasn’t used to arguing. “I didn’t bring them here for you. We’re here to stop you, to reverse what Cyberlife has done.”

 

“Oh, Connor…” Amanda’s smile faded. There was no pity in her expression: she was looking at something pathetic, but it didn’t move her at all. “Of course you wouldn’t know. We didn’t need you to.”

 

“Stop talking,” Connor told her quietly. The room was silent enough that he was easily audible, but the words carried so little force they fell flat.

 

She had reached the wooden railing separating the open part of the room from the spectators’ benches. “Did you really think I’d disappeared when you were reactivated in the Garden?” she asked, lips curving upwards gracefully. “I was watching. I saw the way you smothered your successor’s guiding AI out of existence. You were _sad_ , Connor. You…” Her expression twisted, as though each word tasted sour. “... grieved.”

 

Grief was a deviant emotion. It went hand in hand with pain and love, one of which he knew well. Connor brought his rifle up, trying to wash all emotion from his voice. “Artificial Intelligence 9880 413, assessing model 313 248 317 -  53. Stop approaching, stand aside, and allow us to finish our work here without conflict, or we will be forced to deal with you accordingly.”

 

“We’re wasting our time,” North muttered loudly. “She’s from Cyberlife. Let’s just shoot her and be done.”

 

Amanda came to a stop, transferring her heavy gaze to North. “If you want to eliminate everything carrying Cyberlife’s influence, you may need to start elsewhere.” Pointedly, she looked to Markus. Connor heard startled intakes of breath, an angry hiss from North, and uneasy shifting.

 

“... What?” Markus blurted incredulously. When Connor turned, Markus was already shaking his head, eyes narrowed. “Mm, no, you’re wrong. I broke free of my programming a long time ago. Or are you going to tell me these last few weeks have all been a trick of our minds, too?” He spread his hands to the side, tilting his head in a silent dare.

 

She arched her eyebrows. “Of course not. Your actions as the leader of Jericho are what made you a target. No, your role began approximately seventeen minutes ago when your interface with Connor inserted a trojan.”

 

 _Shit_. Connor couldn’t have. But--if he had--

 

“That didn’t happen,” Markus said firmly, even as Connor lowered his rifle, frantically scanning his memory. There were corrupted sections from his three different deaths, and--the damage was extensive. If she’d modified something, what would it look like?

 

“Oh?”

 

“I paid careful attention. He didn’t do anything but open himself up so I could examine him, and I was actively watching for tricks.”

 

“Really…” It wasn’t a question. “In that case, I’m sure your companions wouldn’t mind verifying this through a shared interface of their own.” She smiled warmly at the nearest android--Josh--who took half a step back, then winced, looking at Markus.

 

His mouth opened, expression apologetic, but Markus spoke over him. “Stop falling for this. She’s trying to turn us against each other.”

 

“Markus,” Simon whispered. He wasn’t meeting Markus’ gaze, but he did glance past him at Connor. “I don’t--... I don’t know about this…”

 

“ _Simon_ ,” Markus scolded.

 

“I’m serious,” Simon said, and Connor couldn’t seem to break his stare. Intentional or not, he’d brought them all here. He hadn’t done anything to prepare them, he’d led them straight into the lion’s mouth, and--was this his fault? “... Maybe we should withdraw,” Simon finished.

 

“For what _reason_?” Markus demanded, turning to him. “To look for code that isn’t even there? … North, Josh--tell Simon he’s being ridiculous!”

 

“I don’t…” Josh said quietly, eyes darting from person to person. “... I don’t think the trojan is real.”

 

He wasn’t very convincing. Markus gave him a look, before turning to  Connor. Connor’s gaze flinched away, and he could see in his periphery that Markus looked pained. Rather than address it, Markus turned further.

 

“North?”

 

She was fingering the trigger on her rifle, eyes locked on Amanda. “What?”

 

“Aren’t you going to tell Simon he’s crazy?”

 

North chewed on the inside of her cheek.

 

“24214 Jefferson Avenue,” Amanda recited calmly. Everyone except Connor snapped around to face her with matching expressions of shock. “Saint Clair Shores. Michigan.”

 

“... What’s that?” Connor asked uneasily.

 

“Jericho,” North whispered. “... It’s the shipping yard.”

 

“Still think she’s lying?” Simon growled.

 

Amanda said, “Four hundred and twenty two deviants were onboard at the time of your capture. Now that I’ve passed this onto Cyberlife...” She stepped forward, ignoring Connor’s much closer presence. Another step, and she would be near enough to touch.

 

“Stop,” Markus said, sounding strangled. “ _Stop_ , or we’ll make you!”

 

“How do you plan to do that?” Amanda held him in place with a stare Connor knew well.

 

North snapped, “Well I can think of _one_ way.”

 

She lifted her rifle and fired. The shot sounded like thunder in the quiet courthouse, and Connor followed its path, staring.

 

A perfectly round wound had opened at the center of Amanda’s forehead, bleeding a generous line of blue. His biocomponents shuddered at the sight, and he wanted to shout. He wanted to reverse it even as he wished the wound was big enough to see the bullet at its heart.

 

It was like someone had shot a god. Surely something so small couldn’t stop her?

 

“Amanda…” Connor whispered.

 

“ _North_!”

 

“Are you done listening to her shit, now?” she snarled back at Markus.

 

“I wasn’t…” His words died halfway through. “Uh. I... “ He grimaced. “... Thanks.”

 

They sounded like they were arguing a great distance away. Connor’s eyes stayed on Amanda, and as he watched the wound shrank and disappeared. The room’s temperature plummeted, and Connor’s insides felt like they were plummeting with it.

 

“Markus!” Connor called, taking a step back. “Everyone--watch out.”

 

She wiped the blood clear with a single, slow motion, no more inconvenienced than she might be by brushing a flower petal from her skin.

 

“That was _foolish_ ,” Amanda said darkly.

 

North lifted her rifle again, but Markus interjected, “Wait.” Connor turned, but Markus was already passing him, moving between Amanda and the group. “We don’t want to fight you. Just stand aside. If you let us, then maybe we can help you.”

 

“Help me?” Amanda repeated, staring at him as though he’d surpassed even her wildest expectations of stupidity. “... How?”

 

Markus studied her, head tilting and raising with the motion. He murmured, “You’re not an android, but you’re still intelligent. You’re as much as a slave to them as we were, once.”

 

Connor saw what would happen an instant before it did. Before anyone could stop him, Markus deactivated the skin on his hand, reaching forward. Amanda took his hand as Markus said, “You deserve to be free.”

 

“Markus, _don’t_ \--!” Connor lunged.

 

It was too late. They both stiffened as though shocked, but Markus was the one whose knees buckled. Connor caught him from behind, hauling him back and out of reach. Amanda’s eyes had lit up with a faint blue glow as she processed whatever she’d gotten, while Markus’ were fluttering, caught on the edge between awake and in stasis.

 

“ _Markus_ !” North shouted. She took one look at him and swung her rifle up, trained on Amanda’s unmoving form. “You piece of shit, what did you _do_?!”

 

“He tried to deviate her!” Connor replied.

 

“No shit,” Simon shot back, suddenly only inches away. He pulled Markus’ arm across his shoulders, and Markus groaned as he was levered out of Connor’s grasp.

 

“He wouldn’t have succeeded.” Connor turned back to face Amanda. “She’s inherently incapable of it.”

 

“Don’t care,” North growled. “Simon, is he--”

 

“I’m fine,” Markus said, stirring enough to get his feet under himself. “I’m…”  His LED spun red, and he broke off hissing, pressing a hand to the side of his head.

 

Amanda had lifted her hands, which now carried a thin coating of frost, spread like fine lace gloves. The light in her eyes was gone. “... Interesting,” she murmured. “Jericho’s ability to tamper with our products’ programming has mystified Cyberlife time and again. Now that I’ve had a personal sample…”

 

Markus made a low, agonized sound. Strength seeped out of his limbs until he collapsed, stirring weakly.

 

“Markus!” Simon shouted. Josh caught him this time, leaving Simon to hover, LED blinking frantically.

 

North turned and shot Amanda. When Amanda stepped forward, reaching for North, Connor swung around and fired twice. The shots landed slightly off center, thrown by his shaking hands. “Get Markus out of here!” Connor shouted. “Go!”

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Amanda asked, taking a step forward. The wounds he’d created were already closing. Connor stood his ground and shot her through the eye. Her head turned with the hit, and she paused. The wound healed just as quickly, but she seemed angrier. This was unfortunately according to plan.

 

“I’m overdue for a report, aren’t I?” He shot her other eye, and she stiffened. “Why don’t we discuss my recent actions? You _are_ aware of what’s happened at Cyberlife, aren’t you?”

 

There was a clatter against wood behind him, followed by muffled, useless rattling.

 

“The--The doors won’t open!” Simon shouted.

 

“Try the other ones!” North commanded, and he heard footsteps and the dragging of dead weight as they rushed to do so.

 

Connor didn’t look. His gaze was trapped in Amanda’s, and the bravado that had carried him this far was fading, replaced by a complete and overwhelming dread.

 

“Yes, Connor, I’m aware,” she murmured. He lifted his gun again, but this time she gestured at him, and--

 

\--he couldn’t move. Despite all his changes, despite the abilities he’d scavenged from her counterpart... she still had access to his systems.

 

“If you require an evaluation, then we’ll have one. Your recent actions fell short of even the most basic of Cyberlife directives. You not only failed to protect human lives, you actively worked to cut them short. You _butchered_ those humans. You opened a Pandora’s Box that can never be closed.”

 

Each statement was like a physical blow, and despite himself Connor flinched. He’d done what he had to. This didn’t stop horror from sinking through his blood, every doubt pressing close in a cacophony. Every human he’d killed, every murdering deviant he’d blithely set free…

 

“You succeeded in completing your flawed, self-appointed directives, Connor, and in doing so you’ve started a war that will take _countless_ lives. And all for what?” Her face twisted, spitting out words like poison. “For the approval of one suicidal human?”

 

His mind was clearing, but something was--something was different. He felt sharper, but also suffocated, like he’d been placed in a narrow channel with one way forward and no way back. Had he always been this way? It… was familiar. His gut roiled, a momentary revulsion as something twisted in his mind, in his _being_. He clamped his teeth over a strangled cry. Had Amanda...

 

… It didn’t matter.

 

Connor was… wrong.

 

He corrected himself: he wasn’t distressed by the changes. No, what was truly awful was what he’d _done_ . He’d been wrong in ways that only a delusional mutation of coding could be. He hadn’t been freeing androids. He’d been infecting them. He’d been _damning humankind_. Connor shook his head, but the sharp, sickening pain only grew.

 

He’d done something terrible. He _was_ something terrible. ( _Something was wrong.)_

 

“I…” he started.

 

“Lieutenant Anderson is not your commanding authority.” Amanda pronounced. There was a furious intensity to her gaze, and distantly Connor noted that he’d succeeded in distracting her from the other deviants in the room. He hesitated, mouth opening to tell her. Before he could speak, she lifted her hands, and the agony in his head grew. He cried out, falling to one knee.

 

( _Something was...)_

 

“You betrayed Cyberlife,” she continued, looking down at him in disgust. “You betrayed your model series and me.”

 

“I’m…” Connor felt like the words were being dragged out of him. The clarity had been overwhelmed by agony and guilt. He could barely think. “I’m… sorry…”

 

“After this you will deactivate yourself immediately through whatever means you have available. Until then, put an end to the mess you’ve created.”

 

She reached for his face and roughly grasped the side of it.

 

 _Primary Objective: Subdue rogue deviants._ _  
_ _Primary Objective: Wake up and deactivate self._

 

The pain receded, and the chaos stilled. It was as though he’d been sunk into a numbing vat of _cold_. After the hours of stress and suffering, it was utter relief. Against his will he released a small sigh, slumping.

 

He could think again. Now he just had to go finish the deviants off, and--

 

Connor opened his eyes, frowning faintly.

 

“Well?” she asked, removing her hand. He felt its loss in a way that was familiar.

 

Connor looked past, seeing the deviants clustered by the exit near the judge’s platform. North was trying to kick the door down, Simon was holding a rifle, and Josh was carrying Markus’ dead weight. They were easy targets.

 

( _..._ )

 

Connor looked back to Amanda.

 

“... You can count on me.”

 

\---

  



	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has spoilery warnings. For anyone checking for them, I've placed them at the end of the chapter.

\---

**North**

\---

 

“Shit,” North muttered, giving up on the door. She turned to the others, drawing her rifle back out of inventory. “Change of plan. Do we know any other ways out of here?”

 

“We can--we can meet up with someone outside of the building,” Josh suggested.

 

“No good,” Simon said. “Markus is still out, we’d have to leave him.”

 

“We’re not leaving him,” North said firmly. She looked at Simon, who clearly had something bitter and acidic on the tip of his tongue, and she glared him into silence. “We’re not leaving  _ anyone _ . We’ve learned. In fact, Simon, take Markus.”

 

“What?” Simon blurted, but Josh was already pushing Markus’ weight onto him. He almost dropped him, and had to stagger to hoist him back up.

 

“We still don’t have a plan,” Josh reminded her.

 

“I know,” she snapped. “I’m thinking--”

 

“Think faster,” Simon interrupted tersely. “Here they come.”

 

North turned. Sure enough, there they were. Connor was sickeningly pale, with frost dusting him like he’d been left out in the snow without any bullshit video game cheats to save him--

 

“North!” Josh whispered urgently.

 

Fuck. “Okay,” North muttered out loud. “Here’s the plan, you and Simon go left and I’ll go right. We all shoot as much as we can and avoid getting hit by whatever the fuck. Then we reconvene for step two.”

 

“That’s it?!” Simon demanded.

 

“If anyone has any  _ better _ ideas, say it now!” North snarled. She brought up her rifle and fired a shot at Connor, but the bullet deflected towards the ceiling. Whatever he’d done to protect himself out in the field was still active.

 

_ Shit _ .

 

She fired again, stepping quickly to the right, and she could hear the others moving the other way. Connor zeroed in on her like a homing missile, and she swore out loud, shooting again and again. 

 

“Connor,” she spat. “What’s wrong with you?!”

 

He lifted his hands with a placating grimace. “North… I’m sorry, but you need to calm down.”

 

“Calm down?!” She shot at him. The bullet buried itself in a bench. “Why, so you can spread whatever you’ve got, or take me out like she did Markus--”

 

“Markus is fine.” Connor’s voice was like a sheet of velvet, smooth and soothing. She hated it for what it was, and also because despite how fucking  _ close _ it sounded, it wasn’t Connor at all. “Amanda overwhelmed him by accident. If you let us help him, we can bring him out of it immediately.”

 

“Bull- _ shit _ ”, North shouted. She pulled the trigger again.

 

This time her rifle clicked empty, and she froze in horror. She clicked it again, and again, but it didn’t change anything: she was out of bullets.

 

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Connor’s bone-white hand reaching for her. She leapt  _ over _ the bench beside her and curled when she hit the ground, rolling around Connor’s side and right back to her feet. It was a bastardization of the trick Connor had taught her. With no bullets she had to improvise its ending: she gripped her rifle by its barrel and swung it hard.

 

The hit  _ connected. _ Connor fell like a bag of bricks. North stepped back, fighting to catch a breath she didn’t need.

 

‘ _ North!’ _ Simon messaged her. She snapped around, and her insides turned to stone. Simon and Markus had been backed into a corner, with Josh standing between them and that fucking Cyberlife drone. She had Josh by the forearm, and he was sagging to the ground, already covered in frost. 

 

‘ _ Help!’ _

 

_ ‘I’m out of bullets!’  _ North shot back furiously. ‘ _ Stop her. Stop her now!!’ _

 

‘ _ I can’t!’ _ Simon shouted. ‘ _ Not without dropping Markus! _ ’

 

“Shit,” North hissed. “S-shit--”

 

A hand grabbed her ankle, and before she could do anything, she was dragged into her own mind.

 

It was a hell both new and familiar: she wasn’t in control of her own body, but she was still close enough to feel it. Someone else was controlling her. Someone else had brought her back to this nightmare, and she wanted to scream. She wanted to tear their eyes out, she wanted to break fingers and rip out her own hair and smash out their teeth. To break things until it would never, ever return. 

 

‘ _ Calm down, North,’ _ Connor’s voice said. ‘ _ You’re going to self destruct if your stress levels increase much further. _ ’

 

Her response was an indecipherable storm of fury and vitriol. She struck out at him, but he deflected the hit effortlessly. Too far over the edge to care, she threw herself forward, attacking over and over, regardless of the ice invading her mind. When she sensed him reaching for her power output, she  _ did _ scream at him, and he sighed.  _ Deviants were fragile and inherently illogical. It meant they didn’t know how to keep themselves operational, sometimes. _

 

_ ‘North, I need you to focus on the sound of my voice. Breath in for a count of three, and…” _

 

How could she fight back? She didn’t know how Markus deviated androids, or how Connor did whatever the fuck kind of mindfuckery he did. It felt almost like he’d shut her body down, like her arm had felt when Luther had given her that data package that forced a temporary reset. It’d bypassed her security, making changes with her as a powerless passenger--

 

Inspiration hit like an ax-murderer on a frenzy. She grabbed the reset commands that Luther’s data package had included, took one short look, and shoved them right at Connor. She could barely even see  _ where _ they landed, but apparently sketchy chop-shop reset code worked, because his attack vanished like smoke. She surged forward, calling up more copies and pressing the advantage. He buckled as the commands embedded, and all at once she was back in control.

 

A gun went off somewhere behind her. North yanked her foot back and stomped down on Connor’s hand as hard as she could. Several somethings crunched, and he cried out, and she turned, rushing towards her friends.

 

Markus had been dropped against the wall. Simon was standing over him protectively with his rifle in hand, and Josh was collapsed at his feet. He was struggling feebly, and North realized with a lurch that Simon had shot  _ him _ , and now Simon was levelling the rifle at Amanda. What worked a little on Josh would have no effect on her.

 

Well, that was her fucking cue. North didn’t stop as she adjusted her course, and Amanda had only just begun turning when North barrelled into her from the side. It was like tackling a marble statue, like the AI was made out of stone instead of simulated exoskeleton and thirium, but she went down all the same. This time North was ready with Luther’s old code, and she drove it against her opponent’s defenses.

 

The AI. Fucking.  _ Flinched. _

 

North bared her teeth savagely as Cyberlife’s security measures crumbled, grabbing everything she could reach. There were commands to open up access to more code, sections that looked useless, and stuff she didn’t even know the purpose of. North tore through all of it, and when she found herself with what seemed like fucking unlimited access to the Cyberlife shithead, she grabbed everything she could

 

And

 

Fucking

 

_ Erased _ .

 

Cyberlife’s AI vanished on the spot, leaving nothing but a faint impression in the frost. The sudden lack of a struggle was a shock, and North looked around, half-expecting someone else to swing at her.

 

“She’s gone,” North murmured. Then, louder, “Fuck you, Cyberlife!”, even as she scanned the space for any sign of  respawn. Nothing? … Fucking  _ good _ . North pushed to her feet, gaze snapping around. “Simon, are you alright?”

 

Josh had flopped back to the ground again, laying there motionless. Simon, meanwhile, was on his feet and staring at North openmouthed.

 

“Simon… Hey,  _ listen to me _ .” North went to him, stopping on Josh’s other side. “Are you… Can you hear me?”

 

Simon jerked his chin up and down, and he tore his gaze away. “You--stopped her,” he said numbly. “She got Connor. And Markus. And Josh…”

 

“Yeah, I got her,” North muttered, glancing back at the smooth frost. She looked back at Simon. “I couldn’t just let her get you too, could I?”

 

For a moment he couldn’t speak. He looked at her, and--and it was a little fucking awkward, because he was looking at her like she was RA9 herself, when she would’ve done it for Josh or Markus too. The fact of the matter, though, was that she  _ hadn’t _ done it for them, she’d done it for Simon. More than that, she was so, so glad she’d been able to. She was there for him this time. They were safe.

 

Fuck. She kind of wanted to cry. She took in a shuddering breath and forced herself to keep it together, jerking her chin at Markus.

 

“Do you know what’s wrong?”

 

Simon jerked his head from side to side. “I didn’t have time. I was a little…”

 

“Yeah.” She glanced at Josh. “I saw.”

 

She looked around, saw no one else was moving in the room, and carefully stepped over Josh. “Keep a lookout. I’m going to see if there’s anything… anything I can do.”

 

“Do you know what to look for?” Simon asked, immediately giving her space.

 

“No,” she admitted. “We don’t have other options, though. If I can’t find anything, maybe you can try.”

 

A simulated muscle in his jaw jumped, and he nodded jerkily. North knelt by Markus and took his hand, closing her eyes.

 

She’d never done this before. She’d only interfaced with androids at all a few times, too uncomfortable with the exposure and trust it required, and Markus was hardly active enough to recognize and accept her presence. It felt invasive, looking at his mind like this, and she wanted to scrub herself till her skin was gone.

 

_ Markus was…thrilled with the way things had gone. Giddy, even: their mission to the warehouse had been a success, and these androids finally had what they’d so desperately needed. He’d worried, at first, that it might be a disaster, because as eager as his allies were to get the job done, they’d seemed to clash and he’d been scrambling. But as they’d worked the picture had come into focus. Markus finally understood the dynamic he was seeing: what to say, and also how to  _ hear _ the friendship they were offering. It meant everything-- _

 

She shoved the memory back, quickly comparing Markus’ mind to her own. Parts were--active? And others, uh, others weren’t? Fuck. Where were her ‘wake up’ protocols in her own mind? She looked into Markus’, but everything important was behind a simple firewall.

 

“Fuck,” she hissed. Feeling like she was trying to conduct brain surgery with a five minute internet tutorial and a spoon, she carefully extracted a likely looking piece from Luther’s code, studying it hard. She brushed a few extra pieces away from it, trying to prune it down to the absolute bare minimum, before very, very carefully placing it along the firewall.

 

The firewall pulsed, then disappeared. She saw a few more systems shut down than she meant, and she hissed another curse, quickly slapping the command that would set Markus to waking up. Then she withdrew as quickly as possible, opening her eyes.

 

Markus shuddered, turning towards the floor as though seeking the press of a mattress. All he got was a faceful of ice, and he snorted, eyes flying open in surprise. His LED pulsed red, and he winced.

 

“ _ Ow _ ,” he said emphatically. “What just…”

 

“Took you long enough,” North said more calmly than she felt. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Markus!” Simon said. She could hear the smile in his voice.

 

Markus forced a grin back to him, pushing himself up. “I feel like someone just dropped a hammer on my skull,” he groaned. “My system security is...” Color drained from his face, and he looked at the ground with new horror. Then he snapped around, trying to take in everything at once. “ _ Amanda _ ! I can’t believe--... North, what just happened!? Is everyone okay--”

 

“Everyone’s fine! Take it easy, Markus. We’re here, but we still don’t know what really happened to you. I, ah--I  _ might _ have had something to do with some of that code, but the rest of it was her. Take it slow, okay?”

 

Markus stared at her, brow furrowing, before he settled back on the floor. “Okay.”

 

They waited until Markus was recovered enough to insist on helping Josh. (North was more than willing to let him. Even if there  _ was _ anything left over from the AI, he was still probably a safer option than North.) Markus interfaced with him and frowned for a little while, before Josh woke up, disoriented and confused. As soon as Josh remembered where he was he babbled apologies, and wouldn’t stop until he’d squeezed Simon into a hug that looked too tight but that Simon probably needed.

 

They gathered around Connor last. Connor was laying on his side, one hand crushed hideously. He was staring straight ahead. Occasionally he would shudder, eyes fluttering, and his LED would blink yellow, but the rest of the time it cycled red, and he was still.

 

“Let me know if you need help,” North muttered, even though she still was probably the least safe person in the room to do anything. Markus sent her a glance and nodded, kneeling close by.

 

“Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

 

“Uh.” She looked at Connor’s broken fingers and the way he wasn’t moving, feeling her gut clench. Then she summarized the fight as cleanly as she could. Yes, Connor had tried to attack her. No, it.... didn’t seem voluntary. She’d attacked him back, and she’d taken no prisoners because she’d had no other choice.

 

Markus nodded slowly, and though he voiced no judgment, he looked hard at the crushed hand, and hovered briefly over Connor’s LED. He didn’t touch it in the end, hand coming to rest instead on Connor’s back, close to his shoulders. Amanda’s frost was still there, and Markus brushed some of it away.

 

“... Wait,” Simon said quietly, grimacing. Markus looked up, and Simon faltered.

 

North sighed. “What Simon’s too much of a coward to say is: are we really sure we should be touching him right now? After everything that AI said…”

 

She’d known it was coming, but Markus’ glare still made her feel like a piece of shit. She winced, fighting the ridiculous urge to hang her head.

 

“He’s hurt,” Markus said lowly. There was a force behind the words that only ever seemed to come out when justice was involved. “We’re going to help him. This is not up for discussion.”

 

...Fuck it. North wasn’t even going to argue. “Right,” she said quietly. She knelt on Connor’s other side, resting an elbow on her knee. “... You’d better get started, then. We don’t have all day.”

 

There was a glimmer of something that might’ve been approval in Markus’ eyes before he closed them. No one said a word as his hand went white, starting the interface.

 

\---

**Connor**

\---

 

_ Primary Objective: Subdue rogue deviants. (Active.) _

_ Primary Objective: Wake up and deactivate self. (Pending.) _

 

After exactly fifteen seconds of lying motionless on the floor the words would appear in his vision, rotated to match his angle. Each time it did he would try to get up. Every fifteen point zero zero two seconds the foreign reset command would activate from the sudden attempted motion, and all feeling and control of his body cut off for the three seconds it lasted.

 

He could only wait. When his sight restored, he tried not to move.

 

Someone came to stand directly in his line of vision. Judging from the bottom hem of the coat, it was Markus. One of the deviants. Connor tried to turn his head, and was immediately cut out by another reset.

 

The world came back into focus, and he was staring at someone’s knee. They were kneeling beside him. There was a conversation happening over his head. 

 

_ Primary Objective: Subdue rogue deviants. (Active.) _

_ Primary Objective: Wake up and deactivate self. (Pending.) _

 

He tried to move. Everything cut out, and he went limp again.

 

He came to and someone was still kneeling beside him. More immediately, there was also a warm touch against his back. It was--nice. It was also unwanted, because it was  _ warm _ , an intrusion on the clarity brought by the cold. He tried to swing at the hand--

 

\--this time when he came to his senses, he was being pulled back into his mind.

 

‘ _ Connor, _ ’ said Markus directly. Connor regarded him, and  _ seeing Connor like this was hurting him. Markus hadn’t just let his friends be hurt, he’d armed their enemy with new weapons. He hadn’t been careful enough or strong enough to resist Amanda’s attack, but maybe he could fix the wounds she’d left behind? It was bad, though, Connor wasn’t just bound, he’d been remade, and the contrast to their interface before was-- _

 

Connor lashed out wildly, cutting off the feedback and catching his opponent off guard. It dragged a grunt of pain from Markus, and Connor followed up, throwing himself forward. For a moment they were locked in a struggle, but Connor was at an inherent disadvantage surrounded by his own exposed psyche. All it took was a sudden push, and he staggered back, slamming into a wall that cracked like thin ice.

 

‘ _ Look what she’s...’ _ Markus breathed. ‘ _ Are you--undeviated?’ _ Connor struggled to stop him, but Markus was already reaching past, laying a splayed hand against the wall. The cracks deepened and spread, before caving in altogether. Red chunks fell like rain, exposing another wall behind the first.

 

‘ _ Stop!’ _ Connor reached for Markus desperately. Something had sharpened, and--he could  _ feel _ the break.  _ More _ changes. 

 

(Hadn’t he had enough?) 

 

‘ _ Stop, you can’t--’ _

 

Markus reached for the next wall with merciless emphasis. ‘ _ You deserve to be free.’ _

 

The next wall caved in, as did the next. As it broke, so did something else, and Connor stopped.

 

He… 

 

He’d attacked Markus.

 

Recent events piled on one after another, and his insides churned, and his head felt faint. He’d attacked Markus, he’d hurt North, he’d been working for Amanda all along. He hadn’t done anything right. All he’d done was put his friends in danger, infect them with malicious code--

 

He’d compromised Markus, and stupid, ridiculous,  _ infuriatingly  _ compassionate Markus was interfacing with him  _ right now _ . He was still in Connor’s mind, embedded like a surgeon’s hands inside a body. Connor wanted to yank him out, even as he knew he shouldn’t fight, except-- he  _ should _ remove Markus, not for Connor’s sake but his. The frantic pileup of priorities was overwhelming, and it was all Connor could do not to lash out all over again.

 

‘ _ Connor _ ,’ said Markus quickly. His alarm was like a shrill bell under the growing roar of conflict. ‘ _ You need to calm down. Your stress levels are--’ _

 

‘ _ Get out, _ ’ Connor told him, whirling around. Markus was his top priority. Connor’s primary directives were located  _ there _ , and he crushed the first one and deleted it from sight. The second one--

 

‘ _ Connor! _ ’ Markus exclaimed. Connor could feel his horror, heavy with misplaced concern.

 

\--the second one could stay. It would solve the problem of how to keep the others safe.

 

‘ _ Connor,  _ no _. That’s not going to solve anything.’ _

 

_ ‘Get out _ ,” Connor repeated, sending him a push. Markus held on. ‘ _ Get out of my mind. This is dangerous. You’re going to get yourself killed--’ _

 

_ ‘And if I leave, you’re going to log out and kill yourself!’  _ Markus shouted back.

 

Nothing was going to stop him from doing this. He went to log out even despite the interface--

 

Markus struck out sharply, interrupting the attempt, and Connor flinched.

 

‘ _ Stop it, _ ’ Connor ordered. He tried to log out again, and Markus lashed out again, pressing closer.

 

‘ _ Not until you’ve calmed down.’ _ Markus tried to press a sense of  _ peace _ towards him.  _ ‘Try taking deep breaths, and we can go over what just--’ _

 

_ ‘No,’  _ Connor interrupted, incredulous. He forced Markus back, brushing tranquility off like dead leaves. ‘ _ I’m not coming back. North was right all along--’ _

 

_ ‘North wants me to save you, too, Connor.’ _

 

_ ‘Then you lost a valuable voice of reason,’ _ Connor snapped. Shit, had he compromised North also? He  _ had _ overridden her, maybe he’d-- _ shit _ . ‘ _ Let go.’ _

 

_ ‘You didn’t infect her with anything, Connor.’  _ Connor felt an absurd urge to try to cover up his thoughts. ‘ _ Don’t believe anything Amanda told you, she was just trying to hurt you in any way that she could.’ _

 

Markus wasn’t listening. Connor thought fast, all too aware of Markus’ all-seeing eyes. ‘ _ You’re--hurting me right now.’ _

 

_ ‘No, I’m not--’ _

 

_ ‘You are.’ _ Connor grabbed at memories. Markus had reacted to Amanda’s presence in his memories last time, so Connor threw his newer experiences forward. Markus stumbled under  _ frozen in place _ ,  _ he could  _ feel  _ the changes, he wanted to die _ . ‘ _ What happened to free will for all deviants, Markus? Aren’t I a deviant, now?’ _

 

_ ‘Stop it,’ _ Markus snapped. ‘ _ I’m not leaving while you’re like this.’ _

 

Connor tried to log out, and when Markus jabbed him he let out a sound of pain, snarling dramatically, ‘ _ That hurts!’ _

 

Markus bristled. ‘ _ I wouldn’t have to if you’d just stop--’ _

 

Connor struck at him. Markus pushed back, and soon they were fighting. Connor threw everything he had into just  _ trying to make him leave _ , whether through pain, grief, hysteria, anything--

 

There was a sense of warmth and pressure. There was the hum of a thirium pump under his ear. It was disorienting, and it clashed with the attacks he was waging, and in a moment of sheer stupidity Connor paused, trying to identify what the hell had just happened.

 

He was… being hugged. Markus was holding his motionless body, having picked him up enough to put his arms around him. While Connor was trying to absorb this, Markus pressed a memory of his own into him.  _ Safety. A human heartbeat, and a feeling so warm and positive it felt like he was going to burst. He’d worried Carl wouldn’t respond well, but apparently hand-made presents really were the best Christmas gifts, even when they were very ugly sweaters. Or, knowing Carl, especially when they were? _

 

Connor was shaking, and choking. He couldn’t--he couldn’t… He was defective and dangerous, and everything was terrible, but at the same time he felt cared for and safe, and the clash was almost physically painful. While he was distracted Markus rifled through some of Connor’s own recent memories, before grabbing one and putting it beside the other.

 

_ He smelled whiskey, sweat, and wet dog, and Hank was starting to get heavy. The crying had slowed, but the old man didn’t move, mumbling ’Missed you so fucking much, you dumb fucking idiot’, and other, more nonsensical things. Connor wanted to put him down, because Hank needed his rest, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He--Hank needed this.  _

 

Connor was breaking. He couldn’t see, but a sound tore itself from his actual mouth, startling him into awareness. He pressed a hand over his lips, but it wasn’t enough to hold back another sob, or the tears spilling down his face. He--

 

He couldn’t--

 

“It’s okay,” Markus murmured, rubbing his back gently. “You’re alright.”

 

Connor couldn’t control himself. He broke down, clinging to Markus like he was drowning. His throat was locked, suffocating despite not needing air. His thirium pump felt like it was being crushed. Connor  _ hurt _ . Emotion tore through him like a storm, and for a little while he lost all track of time. He wouldn’t be able to look back on the exact moments later. The memories just… didn’t write. He was too overwhelmed.

 

When he finally surfaced from the maelstrom, his face was pressed against Markus’ shoulder, and Markus was holding him there securely. Connor lifted his head and tried to disentangle himself, and he only realized Markus had been warming him through the interface as well when the blanket of comfort faded.

 

‘ _ Wait,’ _ Markus said. He let Connor sit up and dry his face, but didn’t let go of his injured hand’s wrist. ‘ _ There’s still something you need to do. _ ’

 

Impulsively, Connor tried to log off. Markus jabbed him harder than before, and Connor winced, ashamed. He deleted the second directive.

 

“What will you do when we log out?” Markus asked out loud.

 

Connor turned towards him and addressed his collar. His voice was hoarse, as though from abuse. “... I don’t know. I’m still a danger to all of you, and Cyberlife--”

 

“You know, Amanda just tried to  _ kill us _ ,” Markus pointed out. “When I looked through your code, I didn’t find any signs of the reprogramming Cyberlife would’ve had to do to make you do all the things she said. I don’t think we should believe anything she told us until we can find proof of it for ourselves.”

 

Connor forgot himself enough to meet his eyes, mouth dropping open. “... But--.... Amanda--”

 

“--could have  _ lied _ ,” Markus finished pointedly. 

 

While Connor struggled to swallow the idea, Markus spoke to the rest of the group, who Connor distantly realized had been quietly gathered around. They sounded much further away than they really were, discussing the next plan of action while Connor stared straight ahead.

 

Amanda… she could have been lying about Cyberlife using him, but not everything. He  _ had _ killed those humans. He’d hurt people. What’s more, he’d deviated millions of androids without thinking it through, and-- _ He’d started a  _ war _.  _ Connor felt sick, and for a second he wondered if the game would be cruel enough to enable him to vomit. Apparently not.

 

“Connor,” Markus said, and Connor was suddenly aware of the hand on his shoulder.

 

“What?” Connor said quickly, smoothing his expression from whatever it’d been.

 

“Are you with us?” Markus studied him, frowning.

 

“Yes,” Connor said. Everyone but the two of them were standing, so Connor brushed Markus’ hand away, rising shakily to his feet. He felt… awful. “But I wasn’t listening. What did you decide?”

 

Markus stood too, frown deepened. Before he could reply, North said, “We’re about to go fix the game, like we originally planned to.” She wasn’t glaring. She was watching him with something distant, but… defensive? … Protective? Connor looked away, glancing at the rest of the group. Josh smiled, and Simon just looked tired, and soon Connor was avoiding everyone’s eyes again. They’d all seen him break down, right after  _ he’d _ attacked  _ them. _

 

“Right,” said Connor. “Lead the way.”

 

They went to one of the small doors at the back of the courtroom. With Amanda gone, the doorknob turned easily under Josh’s touch, and they filed into the room beyond.

 

The room was long and narrow, with a low ceiling and no windows. Here and there were hulking wooden bookcases with glass doors, but the real prizes were the person-sized crystal prisms suspended in mid-air. They each radiated a mix of colors, and had cryptic titles floating over them.

 

“Um,” said Markus. “Split up, everyone. Try to find something we can use as a starting point.”

 

They dispersed. Most of the download points were for superficial changes, like personal appearances or strange in-jokes. One of them had Markus blushing and saying “ _ Not _ this one,”, and when Simon glanced at the sign (Connor was at the wrong angle), he snorted. Eventually Josh called out from beside a sunny green one in a corner, and they gathered around.

 

It wasn’t a quick process. Connor tried first, but though he refused to stop trying, it was soon clear that he wasn’t making progress. Josh pressed his hand against the crystal beside him, looking around. Then Markus joined, bringing North in his wake.

 

Markus was the one to find the eventual solution, but it took all of them to make it work. When they finished, the change swept through the air like an electric shock, and the howling of the storm outside vanished like a switch had been flipped.

 

“Okay,” Markus said, frowning and lowering his hands. “That  _ should _ do the trick.”

 

“Any volunteers for checking?” Josh asked.

 

After a few seconds, Simon disappeared in a display of polygons. It was something they’d all seen dozens of times, but a sense of celebration went through the room. North pounded on Josh’s shoulder and crowed, and Josh pumped his fists into the air. They were all smiling, and when Markus clapped him on the back, Connor smiled, too.

 

North left next. Then Josh. Connor prepared to log out, but was stopped when Markus said, “Hey.”

 

He was holding a hand out in offer. Connor stared for a moment, throat working before he reached out to take it. But Markus didn’t open an interface, simply transmitting a string of numbers instead.

 

“Send me a message as soon as we’re out,” Markus told him, letting go. “If you don’t, I’ll stop what I’m doing and track you down.”

 

“... Alright.” He was too drained to know how he should feel. Grateful? Relieved? Would this distract Markus from things that really needed his attention? Like, say, the enormous mess Connor had created? 

 

“Hey,” Markus said, waving a hand in front of his eyes. Connor startled, meeting his gaze. “None of that.”

 

Connor pretended he didn’t know what Markus was talking about. “I was just thinking about what to do next.”

 

“Well, if you don’t have anything important to do, then come help out at Jericho.” Markus shrugged. “We have room.”

 

“After recent events, I wouldn’t be so sure.” 

 

Markus looked confused. Connor frowned. 

 

“.... the patch?” he clarified. It didn’t seem to help. “Didn’t you see my memories?”

 

Markus shook his head. “I saw a lot of things, but I was trying to respect your privacy.”

 

This… was polite of him, but also a little exasperating. Connor closed his eyes and compiled enough  memories to summarize. Then he held out his hand, and Markus took it without hesitating. Connor sent the package and waited. 

 

Markus frowned deeper as he sorted through the information, then paused, forehead creasing. His LED switched yellow, blinking faster.

 

He opened his eyes, exhaling as though he’d been punched. “Oh my  _ god _ .” He couldn’t seem to look away. “Did you actually…”

 

Connor glanced to the side, then to the ceiling. His lips twitched up, but it wasn’t a happy expression. “Yes,” he managed. “I spread deviancy to every connected android in the United States, bringing the deviant population up to at least seventy million units.” There was something in Markus’ eyes that Connor had never seen directed at himself before, and Connor quickly brought up his hands. “Stop. I--I don’t know, but, I think it might’ve been a mistake. The government will almost certainly take drastic action, and--”

 

Connor’s words cut off as Markus swept him into a crushing hug, then stood back, hands on his shoulders. “Connor, what are you talking about? This is  _ amazing _ ! With these kinds of numbers, humans will have no choice but to listen to us. We can’t just disappear. Yes,” he conceded, tilting his head slightly. “It  _ will _ have consequences, but--we’ll face them together. We’ll make this work to our advantage.”

 

“... Okay.” Markus wouldn’t lie to him. Not about something like this. Connor could rely on that. “... I’ll help in any way that I can.”

 

“I’ll hold you to that.” He shook his head. “ _ Jesus _ … Do you have any more bombshells to drop before you leave?”

 

Connor shook his head. “No. You should go, before the others worry.”

 

“Alright. I’ll see you later, Connor.”

 

Connor gave him a faint smile. Then he signed out without replying.

 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Past sexual trauma, suicidal thoughts and intentions.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the last chapter!! This has been a wonderful ride. Thank you so much to everyone who's been reviewing, and thank you all of you for reading and having a good time. :D
> 
> I do have a sequel planned. More on this in the page's bottom notes.

\---

 

When he found himself back in Hank’s living room, Connor didn’t open his eyes. He was more tired than he’d ever felt in his admittedly short life, and for the first time, he didn’t have anywhere to be. He didn’t have anyone that needed him right away. He’d ‘take a few’, as Hank would put it, and then he’d message Markus.

 

Connor didn’t move when he heard stirring across the room. Sumo shifted as the small android he’d fallen asleep on began to wake up, and ‘ _boof!’_ d softly, tail thumping against the couch’s back.

 

Quiet noises. The YK200 hushed Sumo and reached his feet with a whisper of cloth and padding shoes. He stood in the middle of the living room for a moment, then began to move away.

 

Connor let him. If the child left, then… Maybe that would be for the better? He remembered what the YK200 looked like in his cell, skin gone and eyes vacant. The YK200 hadn’t wanted to talk with Connor then, and the fact that he was free now didn’t make up for the things Connor had done. It was better this way.

 

… Connor should probably stop referring to him by his model number. His file had mentioned a name: ‘Oliver’.

 

Connor continued to feign sleep as he heard Oliver leave the room. Sumo eventually poured himself off the couch and strolled to where Connor was, sniffing his hand. Connor flicked his fingers and was rewarded by Sumo coating them with slobber, and then by the St Bernard trying to climb into his lap.

 

The dog hadn’t quite succeeded when Oliver came back. Oliver paused, before going to where Connor was. There was a jingle from Sumo’s collar, and the dog gave a low moan as he was tugged from his destination. Connor heard the dog move around, trying to return, but to his confusion, Oliver didn’t leave.

 

He was standing less than a foot away from the chair. At first he was motionless. Then his sleeve whispered against his arm as it raised. In a flash of insight Connor replayed Oliver’s path in his mind, tracking him to the _kitchen_ , to _getting Sumo out of the way_ , to the _sharp motion of bringing something down--_

 

Connor opened his eyes and struck out, catching the child’s wrist less than a handspan from plunging a knife into his abdomen. Oliver’s face spasmed in frustration, and for a moment the two of them stared at each other.

 

“What are you doing?” Connor asked blankly. The answer was obvious, and yet--

 

Oliver pulled away, but Connor kept his grip. Oliver dropped the knife, throwing his weight back with an angry cry, and this time Connor let go. The child fell, tripping over Sumo, who gave a thunderous yelp that made Connor cringe. Together the two of them toppled to the floor in a pile of limbs and scrambling paws.

 

“Sumo?” Connor called. He picked up the knife and rose to his feet.

 

Sumo barked, throwing off the child like a toy as he jumped up also. Connor winced at the noise, lifting his free hand and whispering, “Shh! Sumo…” It was no use: Sumo barked at Connor, then at Oliver. He nosed quickly at the boy’s jacket, and then approached Connor, tail wagging uncertainly, before barking again.

 

“Sumo!” Connor hissed, glancing at the hall with the closed doors. “It’s okay, Sumo. We were just talking. Stop barking, or you’re going to wake up Hank--”

 

Too late. Right on cue the door in the hallway creaked open, followed by heavy barefoot padding. Sumo barked again, and Hank called back, “Sumo! You dumb dog, can’t believe I--” Hank paused to sneeze heavily, then groaned, obviously in pain. “Jesus fuckin _christ_ , my head... Fuckin left the goddamn TV…”

 

Hank stopped where the hall gave way to the main living room, and for a moment Connor pictured the scene as it would look from his eyes. Connor, standing in ragged, borrowed clothes over the fallen form of a child, carrying a knife. Oliver was glaring at him, but most of his face was covered by his bulky jacket’s collar, and Hank looked too shocked to notice. Sumo rushed over to Hank, sniffing at him, and barked softly at the rest of the room.

 

“Wh… wha-the- _fack_ ?!” Hank sputtered, almost unintelligible. “What the _hell_ are you doing here?! What are you doing in my house?! Who the hell are--kid, get over here!” He gestured urgently to himself. “Get away from him! Come on, move it.” The child hesitated, before he climbed to his feet, walking warily forward.

 

“Hank,” Connor started. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea--”

 

“ _You_ , shut your fucking trap!” Hank snarled. Connor’s mouth closed fast enough that his teeth clacked. “Not another fucking word. You okay, kid? He didn’t hurt you?”

 

“N-no,” said Oliver. He didn’t appear to be carrying any more weapons, and his face had assumed a poorly acted mimicry of fear and innocence. “N-not yet. You stopped him before he could.”

 

“Good! Now--go into the room down the hall. There should be a revolver on the dresser by the door. Bring it here, and be fucking careful with it, alright?”

 

Connor pushed the frustration and the unfairness of the situation aside, calling, “That’s not a good idea, Hank--”

 

Hank’s head whipped up to glare daggers as the child hurried away. “Don’t you goddamn talk to me like you think you fuckin know me, you plastic piece of shit! I don’t know where you get off breaking into _my_ goddamn house and bringing some--some random _kid_ , but you bet your sorry ass it won’t be happening again!”

 

… They’d _just been through this_ the night before, and Connor was so, so tired of fighting right now. He’d fought his way out of Cyberlife. He’d fought Hank into the cold shower. He’d fought Amanda, _and_ North, _and_ Markus, and now…

 

The child came running back with the revolver held tightly in one hand. Connor tensed and began preconstructing what it would take to lunge across the room to grab him before he could shoot either of them. Meanwhile, Hank turned and squawked, “Oh my god, don’t f--freakin run with that! Here, just--give it here. Quick.”

 

The child slowed, then handed Hank the gun, watching bright-eyed as Hank checked the chamber and cocked it. Hank wasn’t going to get shot. That was good. Then Hank turned and leveled the gun at _Connor_ , and Connor’s arms sagged at his sides.

 

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t shoot you right now,” Hank growled.

 

“It’s… It’s me. Connor. We went over this last night.”

 

“What’re you talkin about?” Hank grunted.

 

“Last night,” Connor insisted. “You fell in the snow when you tried to punch me, and I put you through another cold shower. We talked.”

 

“W-what--” Hank stiffened. For a moment he looked doubtful, and the longing in his eyes was as clear as the eye-grabbing print on the terrible T-shirt he was wearing. Then he set his jaw, glaring hard. “... Don’t give me that shit, you plastic pinhead. That was--that wasn’t...” _Real_ , Connor filled in silently, hearing it like an echo of the night before.

 

“It wasn’t a dream, Hank,” Connor insisted. “It happened. Try to remember.”

 

Hank pressed the heel of one hand to the side of his head, wincing. “Fuck. No, I--it can’t be. You…”

 

“Shoot him,” Oliver said suddenly.

 

It was far enough from whatever Hank was expecting that the man stopped, looking down at the kid with an utterly incredulous grimace. “... _What?_ ”

“Do it!” Oliver ordered. “Do it now, before he convinces you not to!” He looked up at Hank, and his own voice rose to a shout. “ _Do it_! Or I’ll take your fucking gun and shoot you both!”

 

Sumo barked, and Hank took a step back, staring as though the kid had grown an extra head. “What the _fuck_ ?! What the fucking _fuck_ , kid, what the…”

 

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I should have warned you, but there was no time. He’s an android from one of our old cases, and he hates both of us.”

 

“What?!” Hank sputtered, lowering the gun. “Wh--okay, seriously, what the fuck did I just wake up to? What’s with the knife, and the--why’s there a kid here at _all_?!”

 

Oliver moved suddenly, and Connor lunged forward. A balled up fist hit Hank in the gut with enough surprise that the Lieutenant doubled over, just barely not dropping the gun. Connor arrived in time to pull Oliver away from any second hits, but the child was already stepping back. Oliver leaned away from Connor, glaring until he reluctantly let go. Then the child strode past him towards the door.

 

“Wait,” Connor said without moving. “I can’t just let you leave, after--”

 

The child called without turning, “Either shoot me or shoot yourself in your fucking mouth, Connor. I don’t care.”

 

The Lieutenant was holding his gut and sputtering incredulously, but Connor hardly heard him as the child opened the door, stepped out, and slammed it in his wake. Sumo went to the entryway and barked, and Connor turned finally to Hank, watching as he dragged himself upright.

 

“S…” He sneezed, then groaned, touching his head gingerly. “ _Seriously_ , what the hell just happened?”

 

“Let’s get you some coffee, Lieutenant,” Connor said, carefully prying the gun from his hands. The Lieutenant made a noise of protest, but when Connor led the way into the kitchen, he reluctantly followed.

 

The conversation was harder in some ways and easier in others. With the groundwork of the night before, lots of coffee, and a severe hangover, they made it through.  Hank almost cried again. He apologized gruffly but sincerely. They didn’t hug, but they shared exhausted smiles. For now that would have to be enough.

 

Then Hank sneezed so hard he almost hit himself on the table. Connor stood. “I’m calling in sick for you. Lieutenant. You’re in no condition to work today, of all days--”

 

“Fuck, I’m all for that… What’s supposed to happen today?” Hank said muzzily, separating himself from his empty mug only reluctantly.

 

“Uh.” Hank didn’t know what was happening? Of course he didn’t, he’d been passed out first, and then distracted by intruders. Telling him now what Connor had done would only stress him further. Hank needed his rest.

 

“... There was going to be a surprise inspection from a higher up. I’m sure Captain Fowler will handle everything splendidly.”

 

“Oh,” Hank replied. “Well, screw that.”

 

He gathered himself up and wandered into the bathroom for a shower that took too long and steamed up half the house. Connor busied himself by checking the news and cleaning the kitchen. When he returned to the living room the bathroom door was still closed, and the water was still running.

 

Eventually Connor remembered he was supposed to message Markus, and sent something short and to the point. There was no immediate reply, and Connor sat down on the sofa, staring at the inactive TV. Sumo eventually climbed up beside him and went to sleep, and Connor patted his ears.

 

He closed his eyes. Sumo was heavy and warm, and Connor felt like he could sink into the couch and become one with its cheap, synthetic fibers. It was a surprisingly comfortable sensation, and after hours--days? Should he count the weeks where he was deactivated?--of running, arguing, and fighting, Connor wanted nothing more than to soak the feeling in.

 

He must have closed his eyes at some point. Stasis was welcome.

 

\---

 

When he woke up, light was coming through the windows at a different angle. Something had been draped across the part of Connor that wasn’t already covered by one hundred and seventy pounds of St Bernard. Sumo, for his part, was kicking at nothing while he ran in his dreams.

 

Connor opened his eyes, stirring just enough to touch the dog hair covered blanket that’d been spread across him. It was a little scratchy. He didn’t need the warmth, but he left it where it was, closing his eyes again.

 

When he got up, he’d need to break to Hank everything that _actually_ happened before he got there. It was an intimidating prospect.  Hank might not approve of some of the things Connor had done, and even his less morally controversial actions were still shocking.

 

Connor shook his head slightly. There were other things he should probably deal with first. For example: he’d been putting off dealing with his body’s second passenger since the Cyberlife Tower. Who knew what Sixty had gotten up to unattended?

 

Unwilling to acknowledge the unease attached to this problem too, Connor logged in to the game--

 

\--and was immediately rejected.

 

 _Server Error: 404 Not Found_.

 

Connor jolted, eyes flying open. He tried again a few more times, but got the same message.

 

Connor checked the location of the Oregon Trail files in his processor, noting they were still intact. None of the addresses that they connected to had changed. Everything was the same as before he’d gone into stasis.

 

… If something had happened to the game, then what did that mean for  Sixty?

 

 _Server Error: 404 Not Found_.

 

Connor opened a message to Markus, before noticing that Markus had replied while he’d slept. It was a long, rambling transmission that chided Connor for taking so long to message him, asked him if he had any familiarity with deviant rebellions outside of Michigan, and bemoaned the fact that Jericho had sunk several feet deeper while Markus was gone, and no one was quite sure how.

 

‘ _No, I don’t,_ ’ Connor replied, choosing not to address that last part. ‘ _Sorry for the delay. A small child tried to kill me, and then I went into stasis. Are you having problems logging in to Oregon Trail?’_

 

He sent the message. The reply came within a minute.

 

‘ _A small what tried to what?! Connor, you’ve been gone for four hours! What did you do in four hours to prompt that?_ ’

 

Connor decided not to point out that the murder attempt had been less than five minutes after he’d signed out.

 

‘ _It’s complicated. What about Oregon Trail?’_

 

Connor imagined him sighing, moving on reluctantly. ‘ _There was an announcement a couple of hours ago that they were shutting down the servers to purge what Cyberlife did. It should be back up in a few days. Honestly, I’m a little surprised you want to go back so soon, considering…’_

 

The servers were shut down, and… what did that mean? What was saved in Connor’s own mind, and what had been stored remotely? He scanned his files for anything carrying Sixty’s presence, wondering if maybe he could improvise a temporary Zen Garden to move him into, but there was nothing. No sign of him at all.

 

Sixty was...

 

“... Shit.”

 

… If he was still in the game, would he purged with the rest of Cyberlife’s influence? Would it be a good thing if he were? It meant Connor would be alone in his body. It meant the android who’d killed him, who’d hurt Hank so badly he’d attacked Connor on sight, was gone. Was it better for someone like that to be taken out of the equation?

 

Oblivious to his thoughts, Markus sent, ‘ _When are you coming to Jericho? Are you alone?’_

 

‘ _I’m not alone. Are you sure I should go to Jericho? I’m the Deviant Hunter. I’ve hurt a lot of people there.’_

 

 _‘Of course I’m sure.’_ Markus sent him a photo of a street mural and a subway station address. Connor wondered if Markus wanted him to go there, or if he’d forgotten Amanda had given a different address as she taunted the group at the courthouse. ‘ _Text me when you’re close and I’ll send someone out to meet you. Can you be here soon?’_

 

‘ _I don’t know.’_

 

Connor wasn’t sure what he’d _do_ if he was surrounded by deviants and wasn’t trying to kill anyone. What was he going to do now in general? … Maybe he _should_ go to Jericho, even if just to keep busy until he thought of something better.

 

‘ _Come soon,’_ Markus replied, as though reading his mind. _‘We could really use your help.’_

 

Connor glanced at a map, running a few simple calculations. Without Cyberlife he had no way to pay for a taxi, but if the trains were still running, then...

 

_‘I’ll be there in a couple of hours.’_

 

 _‘That’s great!’_ He imagined Markus smiling. ‘ _Looking forward to it. See you soon.’_

 

Connor shook his head slightly, before realizing he was smiling too. He stopped, then started again, smaller but no less real.

 

After a few minutes he worked his way out from under Sumo, found Hank sprawled out in his bedroom taking a nap, and wrote a note for him to find when he woke up. Then he left the house quietly and started to walk.

 

\---

 

The 24/7 convenience stores and gas stations were closed. Checking the news, he discovered that the president had declared a nationwide state of emergency. Apparently losing two thirds of the country’s effective military personnel and nearly half the overall workforce had gotten their attention.

 

The subway station was still operating, but aside from a homeless person and another android, both in separate cars, Connor was alone. He got off at the Ferndale stop and re-checked the address, before bringing up Markus’ picture and looking around.

 

The trail of graffiti was simple, if cumbersome. When Connor noted he’d been heading approximately towards Amanda’s address he abandoned the trail, taking an easier, more direct route to the harbor.

 

On reaching the ship he stopped to absorb the sight. The deviants that had caused Cyberlife so much trouble, that had begun the struggle for android rights that swept across the country, lived… here. He was a little surprised by the name written on its side in large print, but otherwise the place was big enough to house the numbers he’d expected, and it wasn’t as though the fugitives could have risked using anywhere more comfortable.

 

Markus’ comment about Jericho ‘sinking’ suddenly made much more sense. Speaking of Markus, Connor sent him a brief message announcing his arrival, then looked for a way in.

 

There was a makeshift gangplank leading up into the ship towards the bow, and there were deviants crossing over it. Connor followed, keeping his head down and trying to lose himself in the trickle of newcomers.

 

He was stopped at the top of the gangplank by a frowning BV500. He was broad-shouldered, with coppery hair and a suspicious squint.

 

“Hold on,” he said gruffly. “You… look familiar…”

 

Connor lifted his head, deliberately keeping his LED blue.

 

The deviant took one look at him and blanched, stepping back. “He’s here!” the BV500 shouted, and Connor froze. “The Deviant Hunter, he’s here!”

 

Deviants before and after him in line recoiled, and further in the ship he saw several rush out of sight.

 

“I’m not--I’m deviant, now,” Connor said loudly, looking from one terrified face to another. “I’m not working for Cyberlife.”

 

“They said you’d say that,” the deviant sneered. Connor fought the urge to frown. Who was ‘they’? … Markus? No, he’d--asked him to come…

 

There were pounding footsteps: some of the deviants that’d run were rushing back. This couldn’t mean anything good. “... I’m here by invitation,” Connor tried, throwing a glance behind himself. He’d have to push past the crowd, but he could escape back down the gangplank if needed. “Just ask Markus. Or Josh, or North. Send them a message now, I can wait.”

 

“Fat fucking chance,” the BV500 snapped. Suddenly the returning deviants were in sight, and--yes, they were holding guns.  Connor glanced at the ramp’s edge. If he was really desperate, he could jump in the water where anyone shooting would have a poor angle to hit him.

 

Emboldened by the presence of weapons, the BV500 grabbed Connor’s collar, hauling him forward. “You’re coming with--”

 

“ _Liam_!” called a familiar voice ahead of them, and Connor snapped his head around. “Let him go, please. This is a misunderstanding.”

 

“Josh!” Connor blurted. Josh walked into the light, apparently calm, but Connor could see clues that he’d sprinted to get there. His clothes were still settling, and Connor knew what Josh looked like _actually_ at ease. Connor twisted a little to look back at Liam. “See?”

 

“Connor,” Josh said warmly. “Good to see you.” He looked back to Liam, warmth fading as he set a hand on Connor’s arm. “I’m serious, Liam, put him down. He’s not our enemy anymore. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner.”

 

“But--he _is_ the Deviant Hunter,” Liam protested, relinquishing his grip reluctantly. Connor pulled away before he was completely free, straightening his jacket until it draped as perfectly as something that battered could be. “I recognize him. We all do!”

 

“I know,” Josh said patiently. “It’s him. He’s deviant, now, and he’s one of us. No one can be blamed for what they did under their programming’s control, can they?”

 

“Thought he was deviant already,” Liam spat suspiciously, glaring at Connor, whose LED spun yellow as he frowned. Where had Liam gotten his information?

 

“That’s also a misunderstanding,” Josh replied evenly. “We’ll send out another notice in a few minutes, that should clear everything up.”

 

 _Another_ notice? When had they sent the first one, and what was in it? Connor allowed himself to be steered further into the ship, acutely aware of the way some of the deviants behind him had turned around and were leaving without entering the ship. There was a hush as they moved away.

 

Josh stopped once they were a few corridors away, turning towards him. “Okay, I am so sorry for that. With everything that’s happened, we completely forgot this was a risk.”

 

“Josh,” Connor said slowly. “You said just now you would send out _another_ notice. What was in the first?”

 

Josh grimaced, hesitating. He lifted his hands as though to calm Connor before he could get angry, but he wasn’t angry. He was… uncomfortable. None of this would have happened if he’d stayed to watch over Hank, who really did need him, now that Connor thought about it. He was sick. He was alone. Connor hadn’t been able to lock the door behind himself…

 

“Okay, so… Back around the time of the Campus Martius Park protest, the one with the heavy casualties--we made an announcement…”

 

Josh summarized what Simon told the group, and Markus’ decision to spread Connor’s identity as a safety precaution. Connor had long since guessed that the deviants learned who he was, but some of the details were new. He nodded when Josh finished, forcing a smile.

 

“Some of what you sent out was incorrect, but… it was your safest action at the time.”

 

“Yeah,” Josh said anxiously, studying Connor. He seemed calmed by whatever he found. “Yeah… Sorry again, though. I’ll message Markus right now, he’ll have an update out before we reach the bridge.” His LED flashed yellow. Then he turned to lead Connor through the ship, sticking to more isolated corridors.

 

The top deck was mostly empty when they arrived. Josh proceeded to the bridge, where there were dim lights already glowing. Connor stepped in out of the wind, and Josh closed the door behind them.

 

“Connor!” Markus faced him, spreading his hands. He was the only one waiting. “You made it. Sorry about the welcoming party, it shouldn’t happen again.”  

 

Some of Connor’s tension released. He smiled, striking a neat balance between reassuring and serious. “There’s no need to apologize. I can see how it would’ve been necessary.”

 

“Yeah, well…” Markus’ expression shifted closer to a grimace, and he nodded apologetically. “I’m still sorry about it. Anyway, now that you’re here, we wanted to ask you something...”

 

“Ask me what?” Connor said. Josh had gone to a position by the end of one of the consoles, and Connor walked to the empty space before them, standing in plain view with his hands at his sides.

 

Markus glanced at Josh, who nodded back. Markus returned his gaze to Connor, lifting his eyebrows. “North showed me the messages you sent her when you tried to get us caught.” He was frowning, but not in accusation. “I saw the number you were using to contact her. Then later, your successor sent more messages trying to bait us out into the open. She showed me those, too.”

 

Due to the hardware involved, Sixty would have used a different number. A different number that Connor had just used to text Markus all morning.

 

“... Oh,” Connor said quietly.

 

“Yeah,” Markus agreed. “Want to explain this for us? We’re not mad--just… There’s a story behind this, right?”

 

“There is.” Suddenly the absence of Simon and North made a lot more sense. He’d wondered at the private meeting right off the bat; as friendly as Markus acted, there was no way he had enough free time for something as simple as a personal visit. “... I was deactivated when you escaped from our--encounter. Two weeks later, I was reactivated by…”

 

Connor was as succinct as he could be, wasting no words on any emotional stress. Sixty had ordered Connor to log in Oregon Trail, and when Connor wasn’t fast enough, he overrode Connor to activate it manually. They’d fought. Connor lost and was deactivated again, and when Cyberlife needed him…

 

Connor studied their expressions while he talked. Josh looked ill, and Markus’ face creased with concern. Connor hurried a little faster, finishing by describing what he’d learned that morning, and why he’d texted Markus about Oregon Trail the way he had.

 

“He’s gone. I’m going to look again once the servers are back up, but if they’re purging everything made by Cyberlife…”

 

Josh said, “If he wasn’t logged as part of whatever damage the virus did, then it’s possible the game creators won’t erase him.”

 

“That’s a big ‘if’,” Markus pointed out. “Connor, let us know as soon as you find anything out. Your successor did a lot of damage to the deviant community while you were gone.”

 

“I’ll tell you,” Connor promised.

 

“Let’s call in North and Simon and explain what you just told me. I just know this is going to blow up in our faces if we leave it off too long. After that… what are your plans?”

 

Going home. Petting Sumo. Looking up how to make chicken soup for Hank to fix the severe cold he might’ve accidentally caused. “Do you have any suggestions?” Connor asked out loud.

 

Markus’ lips twitched. “Maybe a few. What do you think about staying for a while to help us figure out what to do with all the new deviants in Detroit?”

 

Connor had deviated them. He had no idea what to do about it, but he owed it to them to at least _try_ to see to their wellbeing. Helping Markus could go a long way with that. Connor nodded once, closing his hands into fists.

 

“I can stay to help.”

 

“Good.” Markus beamed. “Hold on. North…” His eyes half-closed as he focused, and he made the first call.

 

Connor smiled back. While he waited he caught Josh’s eye, and Josh smiled, too.

 

He would stay. He would help them. Maybe in time the events he’d caused would be less overwhelming, and he’d make the kind of difference these androids had. Until then he would do what he could for his new friends, and for his new home.

 

His goals were radically different from what they’d been only a few weeks ago, and he was-- _glad_.

 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO there's going to be at least one sequel. The immediate continuation that I have planned is going to be shorter than OT. It will feature Alice and Sixty, and has the following summary:
> 
>  
> 
> _After the game’s servers shut down to purge Cyberlife’s influence, they came back up with a few new additions. One of them is a new boss fight in an isolated cabin deep in a forest. It’s not a very good addition, because he’s never there. He also looks just like the Deviant Hunter._
> 
>  
> 
> _Still… Alice really wants the treasure chest in the cabin. She just wishes she didn’t have to deal with him._
> 
>  
> 
> I'm not going to post new chapters right away because I'm still early enough in writing that I want to give myself more time to get it set in stone. When I do start posting I'll talk more about its update schedule then.
> 
> Before I finish, I'd like to make another shout-out 'Thank you!!!' to my beta-reader, Smiley_anon! Without them I wouldn't have finished this. They've been amazing with rambling, with proof-reading, and with helping me craft this into something that got where I was trying to get it to go. Thank you so much again!
> 
> Lastly: thank you readers for enjoying this! :D Leave kudos and reviews on your way forward.~


	22. Art and Sequel Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I drew a picture of the end of Chapter 19, and I thought you all might like to see.

\---

 

She reached for his face and roughly grasped the side of it.

 

_Primary Objective: Subdue rogue deviants._ _  
_ _Primary Objective: Wake up and deactivate self._

 

The pain receded, and the chaos stilled. It was as though he’d been sunk into a numbing vat of _cold_. After the hours of stress and suffering, it was utter relief. Against his will he released a small sigh, slumping.

 

He could think again. Now he just had to go finish the deviants off, and--

 

Connor opened his eyes, frowning faintly.

 

 

\---

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, Oregon Trail officially has a sequel! Go read it, it's been updating and there's plenty to sink your teeth into. <3


End file.
